Lights Will Carry On
by misscanteloupe
Summary: One argument. One mistake. When a burst of accidental magic goes horribly wrong, Emma and Regina find themselves in a reality where Storybrooke still exists, but as a shadow of what it once was. Just the two of them. Finding a way back home isn't the issue anymore when you're trapped with the woman who hates your guts. Post 3B. Swan Queen.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Lights Will Carry On

**Author: **misscanteloupe

**Rating: **M

**Summary: **One argument. One mistake. When a burst of accidental magic goes horribly wrong, Emma and Regina find themselves in a realm where Storybrooke still exists, but as a shadow of what it once was. Just the two of them. Finding a way back home isn't the issue anymore when you're trapped with the woman who hates your guts. Post 3B. Swan Queen.

**A/N: **PLEASE READ

Okay, normally I don't like writing long author notes, but I'll try my best to make this one brief. First off, I know I have other stories going at the moment, but I needed a break from all the drama going on in the OUAT fandom. And I've been working on this story for a few months now. I needed to get it out at some point. As for my other fics, I promise I'll get to those as soon as I can.

Secondly, I don't actually watch the show. Everything I know from Once Upon a Time is either from tumblr or summaries I've read. So if there's a mistake somewhere or minor plot holes from canon, that's why. I did my best to research certain parts if I wasn't sure, but I'm only human.

Thirdly, this was originally written to take place in Season 2, before Neverland. But I changed it and rewrote the first chapter so the events of 3B follow instead. The same will most likely go for the next few updates. So yes, Robin Hood and Hook are included, but trust me. You won't be seeing a lot of them, or much of the other characters for that matter. For now.

Oh, and no Elsa. Sorry.

Let me know what you guys think!

* * *

**Lights Will Carry On**

**Arc I**

"Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much."

_Helen Keller_

Emma's eyes fluttered open, squinting past the rays of light filtering through the windows in the station. Groaning to herself, she lifted her head enough to peer at the clock she had sitting on her desk, the hourly hand signaling its approach to noon. She'd been asleep for a full hour.

It definitely didn't feel like it, what with the ache in her lower back and the horrible morning she'd had to suffer through; no amount of sleep in the world would come to matter. The magic she had only recently come to terms with was still at a beginner's range, if slightly practical.

But now as the weeks passed and no sign of a threat loomed over the town since Zelena, it was fairly quiet. It was a strange notion to consider when Storybrooke could hardly call itself the most peaceful town of the year, but the lack of activity had Emma retaining her position as Sheriff. And her magic unpracticed and… unpredictable.

It was early that morning that she found herself on one of the nun's front yards, rescuing a cat from a nearby tree. The task had cost her thirty minutes of her time before the latest remnants of her magical energy made a reappearance. It was with a brush of luck on her part that cats have a natural sense of balance.

Particularly when trees suddenly come to life and fling said cats off fifty foot distances.

It wasn't the first time it happened, and Emma didn't think it would be the last either if she couldn't find a way to control her powers long enough to not kill anyone. But considering Gold was out of town again for his impromptu honeymoon, and she didn't trust Blue to save her life, her only remaining option was Regina.

And _that _was out of the question.

She stretched her arms above her head and sluggishly left the chair, pulling out yesterday's paperwork and proceeding to toss them over her work area. She could still feel the lingering effects of the incident buzzing through her body – a sensation so foreign, and so distinctly familiar at the same time, she might as well be playing tug of war with her own organs.

The coffee on her desk remained untouched and likely cold, mocking her with every second she stared yearningly at it. She had half a mind to stick it in a microwave then and save her another trip to Granny's, but as the thought persisted, the same foreign sensation erupted over her skin in a blaze of tingles.

Without warning, the mug sparked once.

And caught on fire.

"_Crap._" Emma lurched back, nearly toppling over her chair in the process. The fire itself wasn't very large – it was more of a flame than anything else, although the sparks threatening to cling to her desk were a different matter.

Her eyes quickly darted around the room before finally spotting the small fire extinguisher hanging by the corner. She made a jump for it as she grabbed it by the handle, struggling to balance the hunk of metal beneath her arm. The latch pried apart at her grip before she could think to aim.

"You've _got _to be kidding me."

The pressure forced her back briefly, causing the foam to splatter over her desk in chunks. As she pulled the latch once more, holding it upright enough to smother the flame completely, the flame died along with the pressure, leaving the surface of the desk doused in white foam.

Emma clenched her teeth. "_Damn it!_" She thrust the extinguisher out of the way, uncaring of the sharp bang that resulted as it clanked against the ground. Instead her boot belted against a chair. "Stupid, _stupid –_" How the hell was she going to explain to Regina that all her paperwork mysteriously turned into foam? "Gah! I hate magic!"

"Is this a bad time?"

She felt like a maniac as she whirled around to the source of the voice, eyes wide and fixed on the figure peering in from across the room. Robin's tentative smile greeted her from the doorway.

"Kinda," Emma replied with subtle unease. She breathed in deeply before landing one last kick at the fire extinguisher, which then rolled underneath the desk.

"Well, that is a mighty piece of work, if I do say so myself," Robin keenly observed, his smile wilting some at Emma's glare. "Rough day?"

"You could say that," Emma grumbled. Slumping back into her seat, she gave the ruined paperwork another sullen glance before groaning. "Regina's going to kill me."

"You certainly wouldn't be the first on her list."

Emma blanched. "I'm sorry."

Robin offered her a sympathetic smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes as he waved it off. "No need to apologize. It is all in the past."

Except it wasn't. Nearly a month had gone by since Emma's trip to the past, and consequently the day she had saved a life and lost Regina's trust all in one swoop. Robin was more than happy to embrace his wife in his arms again, only Marian's arrival had shattered any illusion of what could've been a tentative friendship. Regina refused to speak to Emma, or Robin for that matter. But that was pretty much understandable when your predicted soul mate leaves you for his previously dead wife.

There wasn't a whole lot to be heard of from Regina these days. Aside from their scheduled arrangements where Henry was tossed between homes and the occasional note from the brunette's secretary, Emma hadn't been able to get a hold of Regina. She had given up after her seventh attempt to apologize.

In that time the former queen had been reinstated as Mayor, as Snow was too busy taking care of baby Neal nowadays and nobody else wanted the job. David continued to work as her part time deputy, alongside Robin who had gratefully stepped down from his position as Sheriff in Emma's honors. And then there was Hook who, despite having some trouble adjusting to the modern world, managed to find a job on the coastline selling fish to neighboring towns. They were relatively steady now that Emma found it somewhat worthwhile to give the relationship a shot.

Relatively.

"How's Roland doing?" Emma asked.

"Very well, m'lady," he smiled. "He's at the park spending time with his mother."

"For the last time, Robin. It's Emma," she insisted, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. It was bad enough that Hook had a knack for nicknames, but to have Robin Hood of all people woo her with chivalry was too much to stomach. "Shouldn't you be with them? I thought I gave you the day off."

"Needless to say, I am here for a reason," Robin declared, sparing her a thoughtful look. He took the seat across from her and held out a manila folder. "Your father has asked that I give you this."

Emma paid no mind to the foam trickling over the edge of the desk, and instead eyed the folder with trepidation. "Funny. That looks the folder my son uses for his school projects."

Robin cleared his throat. "Yes, well –"

The rest of the remark went unheard as Emma snatched the folder from his hand and began skimming the contents. There were several pages inside, each consisting of typed lettering and a copy for every sheet. Somewhere along the small print she spotted her name just above the official Storybrooke seal, and just as quickly felt the effects of the day's frustrations grow – a bitter heat prickling over her skin like fire.

For a moment the blinding rage left her incapacitated to do anything but stare at the fine print, and the delicate, curved scrawl of the Mayor's signature sealed over the very bottom.

She saw red.

"Where are you going?"

Emma didn't realize she was striding to the door until Robin's fingers were wrapped delicately around her wrist. "To have a little chat with the Mayor," she managed to grit out, wrenching her hand away, "and this time she's going to listen to what I have to say."

Robin watched on helplessly. "Miss Swan –"

"It's _Emma_."

The rest of his words were cut off by the brutal slam of the door. It didn't escape his attention that the door had shut on its own, with the blonde's retreating back long gone from his sight. And that could only mean one thing.

Magic.

Robin winced, his voice raspy and rich with unease as he spoke into the empty room. "This should be interesting."

* * *

Back in Town Hall, Regina did what she did every day; she stared aimlessly out the window and completed some necessary documents.

After she'd been reinstated as Mayor, all the paperwork that had been left untouched during her absence was immediately thrust into her hands. Considering Snow had never once bothered to account for any of it, the workload definitely served as a suitable distraction.

It was barely past noon and already she had fallen behind. The evening before hadn't been easy on her, what with the nightmares that continued to plague her through the night. It was only in the daytime that Regina would manage to block any unsettling thoughts from her mind before she could dwell on them. But today it seemed she would not be getting the same relief.

If she wasn't haunted by the memory of Robin Hood and his miserable deeds, she was seething over a certain blonde-haired savior that had once again managed to crawl beneath her skin; somewhere deep in the center of her raging chest. Even now, several weeks later, it was a habit she's found irritating at the very least – hating herself for believing that she deserved a happy ending.

And hating Emma Swan for proving it.

Smothering a sigh, she allowed herself to momentarily drift back into her thoughts. She wasn't quite prepared to have her door suddenly burst open, jarring her out of her reverie.

One glance at a shade of yellow and she scowled. _Of course._

How could she have forgotten?

"Sheriff," Regina acknowledged with a curt nod, barely keeping her composure as the door collided with the frame. "Nice of you to barge in."

"Pleasure's all mine," Emma deadpanned.

Regina sucked in a deep breath, letting it out in a slow, controlled motion before giving the blonde her full attention. She couldn't remember the last time she was willing to converse with the woman. Most times it ended with the door slamming in Emma's face.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

Emma's eyes flashed briefly before she stalked forward. "Oh, just cut the crap already, will you?" she snapped, and slammed the folder over the desk. "But there is something you can help me with. Like explaining what the hell this is."

A faint sneer crossed over Regina's lips before she coolly responded, "I believe it's called a folder. Maybe you've heard of it."

"Don't play dumb," Emma bit out. "This has your name written all over it. _Literally_."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh yeah?" Emma scoffed, straining to keep her hands from shaking as she flipped the folder over to the first page. "Due to reasons accounted as incautious, the council, and signed into recognition by Mayor of Storybrooke, has hereby declared you _unfit _to serve as member and Sheriff of Storybrooke's police department. With high regards to the safety of its citizens, you are proclaimed a _danger_ –" At this, Emma paused and panted a couple of hot breaths that only served to ignite her rage. She tossed the folder back on the desk and said through clenched teeth, "Are you kidding me right now, Regina? A _discharge _notice?"

"If you're unhappy with the decision, then take it up with the council," Regina said tersely. "Now, if you will? I have better things to do than listen to your whining."

Emma stared at her jadedly. "You can't be serious."

"Try not to slam the door on your way out," Regina dismissed.

"I'm not leaving until you hear me out."

"And why would I do that?" Regina challenged quietly. "Something as simple as rescuing a cat shouldn't involve splattering it against a windshield."

Emma winced. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Or turning dwarves into a herd of mindless chickens –"

"That was an _accident _–"

"Or risking this town's safety with your endless stupidity –"

"As if you _care _about what happens to these people!" Emma retorted, only to clamp her lips shut in dreaded realization. The scathing look Regina was giving her could easily cut through steel. "I'm sorry," she quickly muttered. "I shouldn't have said that."

"I don't need your meaningless apologies," Regina said slowly. "What I need is for you to leave."

The dismissal rang clearer in Regina's tone than any threat could possibly have. She took in the sight of the younger woman standing awkwardly by the desk, unmoving and unyielding, yet hesitant as Emma reached back for the folder. For a moment Regina thought she was in the clear. She could finally wallow in her self-hatred in peace, without interruption from incessant, annoying blondes with the even more annoying habit of never leaving you alone.

But then Emma stood her ground, clenching her jaw as she firmly declared, "I can't do that."

Anger coiled in her stomach, enough so that Regina didn't bother hiding her contempt as she fired Emma a foul glare. "What?"

"You heard me," Emma said calmly, placing the folder back on the desk before gesturing to it. "You can fire me all you want, Regina. You can make my life a living hell, but in the meantime you're going to listen to what I have to say."

Regina's glare never once faltered. "Am I?"

"I don't know what I have to do for you to forgive me," Emma carried on. "Regina, I didn't _know_. I swear. I never thought bringing Marian back would come to this. It was a mistake –"

"A _mistake_?" Regina echoed, her tone sharp. "Is that what you're calling it these days?"

"It's not like I did it on purpose!"

"But you would do it again, wouldn't you?" Regina surmised, before offering her a long, dreary look. "Time travel with the handless wonder and play hero again for the sake of your own conscience."

It wasn't phrased as the question Regina had intended it to be, as she quickly came to realize – judging by Emma's silence – that she had known the answer all along. She just didn't want to believe it.

"That's what I thought," Regina murmured once the silence began to fester.

Emma looked up from her shoes, her brow furrowed in uncertainty. "Regina, I –"

"Get out," was all that was uttered. Ahead, the door swung open on its own, traces of magic lingering in the air as Regina stared on. The resolution in her eyes left nothing open for discussion.

"I couldn't just leave her to die. You know that," Emma attempted once more, determined. "Henry knows that –"

"You will _NOT _bring my son into this!" Regina snarled.

The vehement response visibly stunned Emma. Within seconds she clenched her jaw and said, "_Your _son? So it's back to that?"

"Oh, believe me, dear. None of that has changed."

"God, you can be so –"

"What?" Regina interjected and circled the desk until she was standing before Emma at a suitable distance. She had half a mind of simply tossing the imbecile out the door herself. "Spiteful? Selfish? _Evil_? This entire town seems to think so."

"I was going to say _infuriating _–"

"Yes, go on," Regina taunted. "Such big words. I can almost forget you're a Charming."

"Funny. Just… would it _kill _you to be a little nice sometimes?" Emma shot back, taking a few angry steps to the side.

"_Nice_?" Regina echoed. "You want me to be _nice _after you decided to destroy my one chance at happiness –"

"I'm trying to apologize!"

"Well sorry isn't good enough!" Regina snapped, her voice a menacing rumble lingering between them. "Now you will get out of my face this instant, or so help me I will take every last one of your senseless _apologies _and mark the day you'll wish you've never been _born_."

The resulting silence that extended before them seeped with tension, the kind that could very well make Regina's stomach churn if she wasn't already so _angry_. Her chest heaved in strained movements, mimicking the motion of Emma's own ragged breathing as she struggled to maintain her composure. Needless to say it wasn't working.

"I didn't want to believe it at first," Emma continued after a long moment. "But the fact is… _you _killed Robin's wife."

Regina's chest inflated as she drew in a seething breath. "How dare you?"

"How dare I?" Emma repeated. "Everyone's right about you, you know. Sure, you're not evil anymore. But you're still… hurt. Angry. Angry at the world and everyone around you. Angry at my mom for ruining your life the first time. Angry at me for existing. So basically you're just an angry lady. And you don't know what to do with yourself."

"As if I care what you think of me –"

"Oh I think you do," Emma cut in, regarding her stonily. "I think you care _a lot _about what people think."

Regina's jaw twitched, a frigid frown painted across her face. "Are you done?" she asked after several seconds without a retort. At Emma's challenging shrug, Regina stepped forward, closing the small distance between them in an intimidating stride that had Emma countering the movement by stepping back. For a second Regina was able to detect a strange mixture of smoke and the faintest touch of lilac in the air. The smell only angered her further.

"Good. Then it's my turn."

This apparently caught Emma off guard. "What?"

"You are the most irritating, mind-numbingly stupid person I've ever had the misfortune of meeting," Regina muttered, voice dangerously vindictive. "Arrogant, rash. Irresponsible. Need I go on?"

Emma's nostrils flared. "I'm not listening to this."

"Oh, but you are," she insisted. "You've made this bed, and now you will lie in it. Now tell me, _Emma_." At this, Regina drew out the name in disdain. "How long will it be this time before you decide to leave again? Hm? Why, with your new baby brother getting all the attention from your _loving_ parents, I'm surprised you haven't run away yet. It's not like they thought twice before they chose to abandon you."

Something flickered across Emma's face for a brief moment, something dark and carnal that Regina couldn't recall seeing in a long time. And it twisted her insides in a way not even magic had ever done.

"You're sick," Emma murmured before shuffling backwards. "That isn't – I'm not listening to this. You want me to leave? Fine. I'm leaving."

"And there you go again. Running from your problems," Regina interjected before Emma could reach the door, the latter pausing just before the brunette's next words, "I suppose that would be the result of living a life without your parents. Or nothing to call your own. Now where did that leave you again? A foster home? Several, if I remember correctly."

Emma's face darkened, drawing in her fury with a quick breath. "Yeah, and we both know whose fault _that _is."

"Or maybe they could've chosen a different path. It doesn't seem like they cared too much if they were willing to send an infant through a portal. Instead they chose to leave you –"

Emma growled. "_Shut it_, Regina!"

"– which brings us back to the main question," she continued, as though Emma hadn't said anything at all. "I imagine you were quite the petulant child. Undesirable –"

Regina was only vaguely aware of her surroundings by then, staring intently at the other woman who was practically shaking with rage at that point; thus she barely noticed the desk vibrating gently beneath her fingers.

"And lost. A bit like you are right now."

Her eyes flashed, and Regina couldn't help but notice it was a look far more intense than anything Emma had dared to strike her with before. Somewhere in their near vicinity, a painting toppled from its place on the wall, hitting the floor with a sharp thud.

"Shut up!"

"And so you insist on running, because nothing good ever stays in your life. And that… that _terrifies _you, doesn't it? Knowing that no matter what you do, it will never last –"

"_Stop _it –"

"And really, I suppose you aren't really the Savior after all. You're merely a scared little girl," Regina boldly declared, lifting her chin. Her gaze wandered across the room in the short period of time it took for her to realize the room actually _was _shaking, almost mirroring the violent quivers spiking up Emma's frame. It was the natural reaction to strong emotion, Regina knew. Magic. But it wasn't something she could dwell on when she was too long gone to care.

She _needed _this.

Taking a step forward, Regina made sure she was within earshot as she dropped her voice to a near whisper. "And you want to know what that makes you?" She waited until steely, green eyes reluctantly shot up to meet hers. Regina faltered, before morphing her face into a sneer.

"A _coward_."

Regina knew she had gone too far then, knew the instant something snapped inside of Emma; if not by the crystal case shattering across the room – an explosion of glass that sent shards into the air – but by the flicker of something dark in Emma's eyes. Something almost feral.

She should've been more mindful of the physical side of this argument, given their history with fists. Stupid mistake, really. But before she knew what was happening, Emma had managed to catch her jaw, enough for the surprise to hit and cause Regina to reel backwards. She clutched the source of the punch with a grimace.

Setting her teeth on edge, Regina snarled, "You'll pay for –"

She paused abruptly.

Regina genuinely didn't know what to expect when she focused her attention back on the Sheriff. A glare, perhaps? Or a look of horror?

But Emma was still quivering, her muscles seizing up and erratic breaths leaving her mouth in loud bursts. Eyes clenched shut, she whirled around and curled her hands to her sides, and that's when Regina saw it; the soft white glow trailing from her fingers.

Regina cleared her throat. She wasn't about to show weakness. "Miss Swan."

The force behind the words didn't extract the desired reaction. If anything the pearly glow had widened, spreading through a set of trembling hands and circling around.

Another attempt led to the same results, and Regina was quickly losing her patience. This was ridiculous. The moron was about to blow up the entire building at this rate.

"_Emma_," she tried instead, and blinked when she was met with a startled set of eyes staring back at her. The emotion reflected in them paled in comparison to the rage pooling there just moments ago, but it wasn't the intensity that set Regina's insides cold. It was the emotion itself.

Fear.

Regina's gaze flickered back to the white glow, circling, molding itself around Emma's hands until, suddenly, it… flared. The room exploded in a burst of light and magical energy, blinding both women in a field of soft, gleaming rays. For the first time Regina felt the fear mirrored in Emma's eyes.

And just as suddenly, the room went black.

* * *

It was Regina who awoke first, her body immediately adjusting to cool gust of air as she sprang up with a gasp. Her eyes snapped open, panic rushing to her chest with heaving breaths. She could tell from the flooring that she was still in her office. The smooth, hard surface of the ground set her at ease somewhat, even when her back ached from the discomfort. It was reassuring, and yet…

Somehow the wedge in her chest heightened.

Something was… off. It wasn't simply the after effects of unexpectedly falling unconscious – she really didn't want to think about _that_, anyway. Doing so would bring her back to the limp body lying by her feet, and the stifling urge to wrap her fingers around the pale throat and shake the idiot awake. Just to avoid a lawsuit though, she ignored the violent thuds pounding in her ribcage and fumbled with Emma's wrist, immediately finding the steady pulse against her fingertips. She dropped the hand with a scoff.

She was definitely _not _relieved.

Her own hands smoothed the creases of her dress before she stood, nearly stumbling in her haste to reach her desk. It was humiliating to think anyone could've found her like this, swaying on her feet with the precious _Savior _lying on her floor. The circumstances could easily be misconstrued.

Shooting a glare towards the unconscious form, she decided to forego the lasting effects of her anger and reached for her phone. As much as it pained her to admit, she damn well needed some assistance.

Her hand froze.

The air was… much _colder _than she remembered it to be. It was distinctly different from the warmth usually radiating from the window. And it was so _dark. _Didn't she get that light replaced just last week?

Slowly her hand strayed away from the phone, apprehension slipping into her features as her chest tightened once more with panic. Something was wrong.

A pained moan drew her from her frantic thoughts, slicing into the silence like a piercing knife. It would sound like that, wouldn't it? When the streets outside were bare of any activity. Or sound.

Or people.

"Ow, _fuck_," came Emma's groan. She stirred once and grabbed her head with a seething hiss. "Might as well take a sledgehammer to my head."

Regina could do nothing but stare, latching onto Emma's gaze before the blonde's features changed into a look of concern. "Hey, you okay?"

Regina didn't answer, not that she noticed really. She simply continued to stare at Emma with a vacancy that seemed to startle the younger woman from her stupor. Her jumbled thoughts were running haywire, not one of them making a lick of sense. But they all came down to one conclusion.

Henry.

The voice returned. "Regina…?"

She paid no mind to the confused calls as she bolted out of the room, her heels clanking painfully against marble floors. Within seconds she was outside in the brisk air, taking large, purposeful strides that merged into a near sprint down empty streets. There was not a single soul in sight. Not one. And the notion caused her to bypass her car in a fit of blinding panic.

Her mansion stood tall behind the gates – white and grand and it just about made her sick. She was gasping for air by the time she burst through her front door and scrambled up the stairs, instinctively finding her way to Henry's room.

The sight of it shouldn't have left her so distressed. It was empty, as she suspected it would be. The bed was made and all of Henry's trinkets untouched, except… the bed _shouldn't _have been made.

She had left in a hurry that morning, barely scraping up the time to make breakfast before she had to get Henry up and ready for school; bed unmade, comics scattered. A prime example of a pubescent boy.

And this wasn't it. The atmosphere alone gave off the sense of a room that hadn't been touched in days, maybe _weeks_. She couldn't even remember the last time his clothes were folded so neatly like that, or his books… weren't _those _supposed to be at Emma's house?

Her knees buckled beneath her momentarily before she finally gave in to the anguished cry lurching from her lips. She slapped a palm over her mouth and shifted her weight against the doorframe, distantly aware that she was feeling the effects of déjà vu. It wasn't an uncommon sensation nowadays.

It certainly didn't make it any less painful, however.

She swallowed the bout of nausea rising in her throat and took in one last calming breath before whirling around with a scowl.

Hell was going to be paid.

* * *

Emma knew something was off the moment she watched Regina flee from the room, marred with a look of utter _panic _that put her way past the level of alarm she was used to. Not even slaying a dragon could compare to seeing the brunette unhinged like that. It was just so… weird. _Really _weird.

So when she gathered her bearings long enough to ignore the migraine pounding away at her temple, she staggered onward and out of the building as fast as she could. Only, she stopped shortly. And her eyes went wide when she noticed what – or who, in this case – was missing.

The whole town was empty.

This had to be a joke. A fucking good one at that. But the more she wavered, staring blankly into the series of vacant stores and abandoned cars, the more the confusion hit. And in came the hysteria where she realized maybe this _wasn't _a joke.

Hysteria indeed.

"Oh, God," Emma breathed, pivoting on her feet and dashing across the street, where the familiar sight of Granny's formed some semblance of comfort. But when she charged in, she was greeted once more with the sinking feeling of dread.

"Hello?" she called out, taking in each and every one of the empty chairs with bated breath. "Rubes? Anyone here?"

When _that _didn't work, she tried the station, half expecting to see Robin again, or David's grin plastered across his face. But there was no one there, nor was there anyone at home…

Growing frustrated, she flipped out her phone and began dialing numbers – Snow, Killian, Archie, even _Leroy_. How did she even _have _his number? Hell, like it mattered. No one picked up.

By then an hour had passed, and Emma's exhausted state was completely warped into something even more drastic. _Fear_.

Oh, if only Regina could see her now.

She might've spoken too soon. By the time she managed to weave her way through the streets, taking cautious steps towards Town Hall, she felt fingers pry at her wrist and jerk her forward. Her shoulder slammed into a brick wall, bringing her face down with it before she was twisted around and forced to peer directly at her attacker.

Regina's withering glare scorched into her. "You _idiot!_" she snarled, clasping a hand around Emma's throat as she thrust her further against the wall. Her next words were venomous and annunciated with each syllable, "_What did you do?_"

Her face was a mere few inches from Emma's, close enough so that she could see the dangerous glint in the older woman's eyes, simmering ominously beneath the surface. Emma had only ever seen this side of Regina on one occasion – when she had taken a chainsaw to her precious apple tree. But even then, the fury was taken in a notoriously simple manner. She could handle that Regina. Essentially she had been facing a furious Mayor, and even caught glimpses of the Evil Queen in between takes.

_This _on the other hand… this was pure feral Regina.

Emma pushed against the pressure holding her down, adding in a reluctant wince when she was met with a heavier grip around her throat. It cut off enough of her air supply to leave her wheezing with each breath.

"Let go of me," she rasped. Her angry eyes shifted to the long fingers bearing down on her neck, and she drew her hand back with every intention of hammering it into the mayor's skull.

As if sensing her thoughts, Regina plucked the hand from midair and slammed it into the wall right next to her head. The vibration sent an unwilling shiver down her spine, prying her away from the searing pain shooting down her wrist.

"Take us back," Regina commanded roughly, tightening her hold, if that were even possible.

Emma felt the air squeeze out of her lungs as she gasped, "B-back?"

"_Yes_, back! Back to our realm!" Regina barked, baring her teeth. "The realm you _magicked_ us off of! With your endless _stupidity_ –"

"I – I don't," Emma choked, her gaze flickering with the glaze of oncoming tears. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't –

The pressure veered back, and the result was instantaneous. Emma fell to her knees, greedily taking in gulps of air as her hand flew to her neck.

"You have no idea what you just did, do you?" Regina remarked quietly, stepping aside to allow the blonde to raise herself on wobbly knees. She studied her carefully, her expression indiscernible.

"I – that can't –" Emma trailed off with a shake of her head. Her stomach continued to boil with untamed fury, though was pushed back with a breathy, "That's impossible."

"And yet, you manage to make it _possible_ –"

"I don't even _know _what happened!" Emma exclaimed, although in her current state her defense didn't hold too strong. "Maybe if you weren't egging me on –"

"So it's _my _fault now?"

"_No!_" Emma hurled back, gritting her teeth. "No. Look, we can figure this out, can't we? It can't be too hard –"

"There is no _we_, nor will there ever be one," Regina countered disdainfully, and it was then that Emma noticed the brunette's retreating steps.

Her brow furrowed. "Where are you going?" She couldn't actually be leaving, could she?

The sneer Emma received in return answered it all. Yes, she very well _could_. "I am not about to waste my time with your stupid questions. My son is alone out there – in another _realm _of all places," Regina stated evenly. "That leaves me to fix your lapse in judgment. Again."

Emma sputtered. "So you're just gonna leave me here?"

Regina faltered briefly, her keen gaze drifting over Emma one last time before she offered a flippant, "Try not to get yourself killed." And then, with a scornful look, added, "Or do. I certainly won't stop you."

With a final swish of her heels, she turned around, and treaded further along the road until disappearing completely. Emma stared after her with a sense of foreboding, jaw askew, and counted down the seconds leading into the admission that… ok. _Yeah._ She was thoroughly pissed off.

She didn't need Regina to 'fix' anything. She could figure this out on her own, and maybe even gloat about it later just for the hell of it. She lived her whole life surviving on her own. A few days wasn't going to hurt. She could this.

So then why, she thought feebly, did she feel so alone?


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Lights Will Carry On

**Author: **misscanteloupe

**Rating: **M

**Summary: **One argument. One mistake. When a burst of accidental magic goes horribly wrong, Emma and Regina find themselves in a realm where Storybrooke still exists, but as a shadow of what it once was. Just the two of them. Finding a way back home isn't the issue anymore when you're trapped with the woman who hates your guts. Post 3B. Swan Queen.

**A/N:** For anyone reading _Butterfly Effect_, I promise to have an update soon enough. I'll begin working on _Happy Together_ once I get that finished.

To everyone who favorited or reviewed the last chapter, thanks so much! I was kind of bummed it didn't get as much interest as I would've liked, but I guess it's only the beginning. This chapter's mostly just a setup for the next one, so sorry if it's a bit boring. But it's important.

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* * *

It had taken only a matter of minutes for Regina to realize that finding a way back home – her _true _home – wasn't going to be easy. Or all that probable for that matter.

Time was slowly turning into an irrelevant, distorted mess of muddled hours and forgotten days. Consequentially those hours didn't just turn into days, but rather _weeks_.

It also didn't help knowing her magic was somehow being subdued. The moment she had stepped into her mansion after leaving Emma behind – that irritable, _inane _woman who was responsible for this whole mess – she immediately fell into the overwhelming desire to liquefy anything that crossed her path.

That Italian leather couch that she once prized now seemed a shade darker, maybe even an inch wider than it should've been. But of course, it wasn't _her _couch. Nor were the stainless steel cooking sets in the kitchen hers, or the multiple photos framed above the fireplace. Those memorable moments were now tainted by the product of magic. Where the sight of her son's face once brought her joy, all she could feel now, looking at the replica, was nowhere near as intimate.

It felt… forced. Fake.

And she felt betrayed.

One can only imagine her surprise when her attempts to burn that hideous couch into a mountain of ash fell short. She didn't feel the customary surge of warmth falling with each intake of breath. She didn't _feel_, point blank. It was as if all magic had been stripped away from her all over again, and that made her the walking, _magicless _dummy who couldn't even burn a couch to a crisp.

She wanted to throttle something.

She didn't dare go back upstairs, in fear that she might end up in Henry's room again. So she waited; waiting on that blasted sofa with the notion that if she waited long enough, the magic would lift. And Henry would come running through the front door after a long day at school.

Obviously nothing of the sort happened. Regina was never the optimistic type, anyway.

That was day one.

The next day wasn't all that different. She awoke in her parlor with a throbbing headache, willing herself to shower without a passing glance towards the vacated room down the hall. By noon she had made a decent meal with whatever product she could find in her fridge. A meal for two people.

She packed the leftovers and drank an extra glass of cider that night.

It was three days in when Regina decided to finally put her research abilities to use. Her library consisted of many books from her life as Queen and Mayor, the former obtaining a more secluded corner away from the casual eye. Primarily for Henry's benefit.

There she had acquired an interesting collection of spell books, several of them taken in upon her mother's death. The others were artifacts from her past, and two, she recalled, were valuable trade ins. Even as the Dark One, Gold was no less rapacious in his bargains.

She spent the rest of the day, and the day after, reciting as many spells as she could, noting with heavy dread that she had never, ever come across the type of pearly white magic Emma had used back in her office.

It was different than the magic she had used to defeat her sister. While Regina could say she had her hand in white magic, the sheer amount of energy Emma had used was nowhere near as familiar. It was pure in the highest sense, if tainted by the castor's reaction.

And it was simply mindboggling that one magical incident, or whatever the case may be, could transport them into another universe without the use of a portal. Or was the magic _the _portal?

None of it made sense. Different portals led to different realms; realms that are supposed to _exist. _This was essentially an alternate version of Storybrooke, a counterfeit to the real thing. But then again, Storybrooke wasn't exactly real either, was it?

The fact that there didn't seem to be any magic in this version of Storybrooke didn't help her case either. It became fairly obvious once she was able to distinguish the change in the air from the magical aura in the real world. And that made things a tad more difficult.

Within a week Regina had skimmed through all the books at least once, catching notes here and there. But it was clear the research was going nowhere. She needed actual, living proof.

She needed _magic._

Sometime during the second week she had set out to the only place she knew where to go – Gold's pawnshop. She hadn't left her mansion since that first day, and thus it came as another shock to find the town so empty. She had become so used to the sounds of padding feet, roaring engines, and whispered murmurs about the Evil Queen turned Hero. After thirty years, she was finally granted the relief of total and utter silence.

It was thoroughly unpleasant.

By the time she made it to the shop, she almost regretted coming in the first place. Rumple had left his store secured on both magical and non-magical grounds before leaving town, which meant breaking in the old fashioned way. Or rather, crawling in on her hands and knees through an unbolted window. Former Evil Queen or not, this was not what she had planned for her life.

At the very least she had the pleasure of ransacking Rumpelstiltskin's beloved artifacts. Such a shame he wasn't there to experience the joy.

Hours later she had stripped apart every corner, every hidden crook she could find, and somehow in that desperate haste she found _nothing_. Absolutely nothing. All the little trinkets that were once humming with magical energy were now as insignificant as any other object. There wasn't a trace of magic to be found anywhere.

And for the first time the idea of it genuinely _frightened _her.

She bypassed the notion altogether, or at least tried to, when it became clear she would be running out of cider at the rate she was trying to drink her problems away. And the idea of actually never seeing Henry again, to be torn apart by different worlds like it had been in Neverland, prompted her to open up one of her books and peruse it word for word.

By the third week, she'd made it a habit to drop by her son's room whenever the opportunity arose. And every day she'd feel the same hollow, distant sense of helplessness that never really went away, She could only muffle it temporarily by clutching one of his worn pillows to her chest and remembering.

Regina knew she was beginning to feel the toll this empty world was having on her. She wasn't an affectionate person by general means, so it didn't come as a great discomfort to have all company ripped away from her so suddenly. But she was still human.

She had garnered enough human contact over the years with Henry, and her days with Robin, however brief they were, to appreciate the presence of someone else. And now to have her mindset settled so closely to the goal of not losing her mind… it was tiresome. And tedious.

And somewhat lonesome.

She didn't like to admit it. A larger part of her still grimaced at the idea. Regina Mills did _not _get _lonely._

But still, how does anyone explain the urge to stand outside her porch every once and a while, hoping to catch a glance of yellow sweep by her vision?

At first it had been purely coincidental – and maybe a moment of insanity on her part. She'd gone outside to investigate the loud scurrying below her porch, fearing the possibility of a rat infestation of all things. And then, from the corner of her eye, she saw it. A flash of blonde hair, or what she presumed was blonde. Or hair at all, really.

All she knew was that it was yellow.

And, at first, she knocked it off as a figment of her imagination, a product her mind crafted in response to the dreariness she'd been feeling.

But then it happened again two days later, after she'd gotten into the practice of gardening vegetables for her meals, and needed a way to close off the backyard from raccoons. One glance towards the front gates and she was marching down the hill in her slippers and a determined scowl on her face.

"I know you're out there!" she shouted. "Quit hiding and show yourself!"

It was just like the imbecile to seek her out after explicitly telling her not to.

Except, when she reached the gates, there was no one there.

For a moment Regina couldn't tell whether she was relieved or disappointed, and instead chalked up her distress as another blithering moment of insanity. And so she went outside every day from that point on for some fresh air.

At least that's what she would tell herself.

It was some days later and therein came the realization that was running low on food. She had made it a priority to stock up as much as she could while Henry was in the picture, and luckily for her she had gone grocery shopping before the incident. Not to mention the water pressure was faltering, and God forbid there be an issue with the generator.

One day Regina finally lost it.

She had woken up at the crack of dawn to shower and arrange her day to delve further into her books. The night before it had rained, giving her no reason to water her garden, and consequently no reason for the fresh air she's found herself needing.

Stepping out of the bathtub, she tugged on a towel and allowed a hand to smooth over the mirror's fogged up surface. There she could see her reflection staring back at her, getting a good look at her sunken cheekbones for the first time, the lines marring her creased forehead, and the large, prominent circles following restless eyes.

She could still see the woman she was becoming when the thought of falling in love again didn't seem so impossible. Even in the face of Zelena's destruction, she could still see Roland's boyish grins, feel the press of Robin's hand in hers, and imagine the family she could've had with Henry by her side.

Now she was nothing but an outline of the woman she could've been, of the woman she was if only for a few measly days.

Long ago she had once told her father no one could ever love her, not in the way Daniel had.

_I was right_, Regina thought.

With a resentful cry, she threw her hand back with a vengeance that might've made her mother proud. The mirror cracked beneath her fist, shattering her reflection, and for a second she couldn't feel the pain. She couldn't see the fresh wound gliding between her knuckles and falling in a pool onto the porcelain sink.

Strength surged up her muscles with welcoming heat, and she thrived on the rage swelling in her chest, running up her arms as she tore her hand away from the broken mirror. Shards of glass struck the sink in its place. Her wide and disturbed gaze took it all in before slowly wandering back to her red-stained hand, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. There were just too many emotions swimming beneath her skin.

Anger being one of them.

Her body blazed with a renewed sense of purpose, and with it came the desperation; for the control she needed in her life. For Snow White and her _blasted _daughter for being the cause of destruction in her life. For her parents and Daniel and Leopold and Robin _fucking _Hood –

She swung an arm over a second shelf, and watched the pile of lotions she had arranged topple onto the tiled floor by her feet. Then came the perfumes, and the bed sheets just outside her bathroom door. Her bedroom quickly became unrecognizable as she tore apart her closet, flinging articles of her clothing every which way, tossing and swinging and punching and in some cases, even biting.

She wasn't entirely sure what she'd managed to sink her teeth into, but it was worth every bit of destruction.

Eventually she gave in to exhaustion. She collapsed onto the floor, her body shaking violently, borderline convulsing as she tried to reign in the rest of her emotions. It was all for naught in the end. It was pathetic how easily she could succumb to weakness, even after everything, and still managed to muffle her anguished cries behind an arm.

Regina had no idea how long it took for those cries to subside, but she would safely assume it was far later in the morning than she intended it to be. Standing up, she cast a look of indifference at the normally pristine hardwood floors, and picked up a blouse.

She took her studies outside for the rest of the day.

* * *

Emma cautiously crept around the doorway of one of the local markets before coming to a stop, close enough to the entrance in case she needed to escape; something she learned to do after deciding – or really, the lack _of_ – to dive head first into an abandoned building.

The first time it had been a bat, not that she knew how _that _ended up in Jefferson's mansion. The house itself was creepy enough. She didn't actually expect that factor to be fulfilled with visual props.

The second time, though, wasn't entirely her fault. She had no way of knowing the east side of town had been overrun by wild dogs – dogs with sharp teeth, menacing barks, and possibly rabies. Definitely rabies.

It had taken her a while to recover from the life-threatening situation, but by then she was nearly starving and still had to stock up on supplies, which was why she found herself here, at a grocery store, straining to hear anything remotely suspicious.

She felt like she was in one of those cheesy zombie films.

Swallowing a nervous lump away as she surveyed the area, she smacked her flashlight a few times until it flickered on, casting a dim light over the floor. The power had gone out sometime during the first week, taking the next four blocks, including the grocery store, with it. As a result the smell of rotten meat had permeated the air, and she couldn't breathe in all the way without gagging.

Face masks were a must.

Once she was positive she was in no immediate danger, she shifted through the aisles with relative ease, almost as though she had done this countless times. Which, in a way, she kind of did. Often times Henry would be the responsible one and bait her into buying groceries whenever they were running low. Evidently the responsibility fell onto her now.

And she wasn't about to take any of it for granted.

Tossing her bag to her feet, she considered her options before reaching out for any canned goods she'd be able to consume for the upcoming days, which mostly consisted of spam and tuna, and maybe a few canned fruits in there for the sake of eating healthy. She didn't hesitate in grabbing some bottled water on her way in, either.

She figured she'd stop by tomorrow to grab some more food, seeing that her bag could only fit the basic necessities. That meant batteries – _a lot _of batteries – a spare flashlight, some candles, a lighter, knives… where were the tampons?

She huffed, stuffing a box of kotex into the side pocket before realizing she had used up the last of the space. Not that that was any less reassuring than knowing she could've made this an easy one way trip if her car wasn't being held in the garage during the portal wave. She was stuck doing everything on foot. And while it was easier to round back corners and buildings, the shopping part could've been a lot less difficult.

Wiping the sweat off her brow, she wrinkled her nose upon catching the familiar scent of decay, and maybe a hint of body odor. She grimaced. Honestly she couldn't even remember the last time she showered.

She tugged the bag over her shoulder and began making her way out, pausing by the counter to snatch a couple of chocolate bars before her eyes lingered on one of those cooking magazines she'd seen on the Food Network once.

Normally she wouldn't have given it a second thought, considering her culinary skills were… well, nonexistent. She'd been surviving off of spam for a reason.

And yet, her mind reluctantly drifted to Regina, who she knew without a doubt could prepare a five course meal without any real effort. And probably _still_ could.

_Her and her stupid home-cooked meals,_ Emma thought, unwittingly rolling the magazine into her jacket. _And her stupid lasagna._

With that in mind, she shuffled back to the exit and into the unwelcoming stream of sunlight.

It was approaching her fifth week here – five weeks of this hell she had to endure before she had come to the god-awful conclusion that if she had any hope left on returning home, it wouldn't be on _her _hands, but, shockingly enough, Regina's. She knew it the moment she had tried going for the easy way out. And it seems like even in this world there was no such thing as 'leaving' Storybrooke, even when there wasn't a trace of magic to keep her here.

That second day had her lost in the woods well into nightfall, shortly after discovering that the road leading out of Storybrooke only led her straight back. Literally.

It had taken her several attempts to figure out, seeing as the road curved one way and it was only normal to assume she had taken off in the wrong direction. How else can you explain her wounding up on the other side of town?

But no. After her second attempt, and a third and a fourth, she finally understood the severity of the situation. No matter which direction she chose to take, it was like a never ending maze, taking her back full circle. _Which_, she had to admit, didn't make any sense, seeing as the pathway didn't just circle around. It was a straight trail; just miles and miles of concrete heading in one direction, which _had _to mean there was some magic pulling her back.

Right?

The forest seemed like her best shot at the time. Obviously she wasn't as attuned to her magic in this world as she was with her own, and if there was anything she had learned in her two years of battling dragons and wraiths and fucking fairy dust, it was that you couldn't just _create _magic. There had to _be _magic. And she was almost positive that a certain well was exactly what she needed.

And therein lay the problem… there _was _no well. Not within the path she had taken from memory, and _definitely _not within the town's vicinity. At some point she had lost track of which way the sun had set.

And that was how Emma found herself shuffling back into town a day later, after taking shelter in an abandoned cabin she found by the lake; exhausted, hungry, and beyond the limit of pissed. She crashed in the bed and breakfast immediately after, sleeping for two days straight with the occasional food and bathroom break.

By the end of the week – or had it even been a week? She couldn't tell – she'd lost enough of her dignity to stand before Regina's house.

It had been a careful decision, more of a painful last resort than anything else. But she had stood there, facing the door with a fist hanging deliberately over the smooth surface of the wood. She didn't know what to expect. Would Regina give her a disdainful sneer and turn her away? Or would she simply scoff before opening the doorway? Had she already figured out a way back? Was she even _there_?

In the end it was Emma's pride that had won out.

She snatched her hand back so quickly she nearly sprained her wrist, before giving it a horrified glare. So _this _is what it was like to slowly lose your mind; it messes up your brain and makes you do stupid things.

Oh, and it was stupid, alright. If Regina thought for one second that she was about to come crawling on her knees for help, she was going to be sorely disappointed.

She had stalked back to the bed and breakfast that night, exhausted and confronted with the task of finding somethingto keep her mind off things. It's pretty easy when you've lived most of your life alone.

Eventually she left the bed and breakfast in favor of dropping by her old apartment, where her parents' absence struck a chord inside her she didn't even know existed. Her previous self might've been all too excited over the prospect of having the dingy place all to herself. God knows how many times she'd had to walk in on a private moment and consider the potential damages of bleaching her brain.

But that was then, and this was _now_. The now that resembled way too much of Boston for her liking. And, well… the kid wasn't there, and she didn't think it was possible to miss someone _this_ much.

She'd decided to stay there anyway, if only because the utilities hadn't failed yet. Maybe she wouldn't admit it, but Henry's things brought at least some form of comfort.

Sometime during the third week though, she had to resort to scavenging people's houses. At first it was for candles, seeing that the power went out and she was more prone to stubbing her toe when she couldn't see. And yeah, stubbing toes didn't excuse the fact that she was breaking and entering. It was different when she was young and picking the locks of wealthy businessmen who wouldn't know a right from a wrong if it bit them in the ass. But she _knew _these people. All of a sudden it became much more personal.

So she tried not to take more than she had to; candles, for one. A can of spaghetti-o's when the pantry was full. She made sure to lock the door on her way out.

It was stupid, and unnecessarily proper. There was no one there to arrest her, to judge her. In fact, there was no one there _at all_.

So why _should _she care?

The answer was simple: she shouldn't. Any habits and previously constructed morals didn't technically apply to this world, not when every citizen in this town abruptly vanished along with any trace of human life. Not when this wasn't _her _world.

And it _wasn't _her world, was it?

When she had stopped by the station a second time, she noticed with ingenuous glee that her red leather jacket still lay sprawled over the back of her chair, untouched and just as worn and faded as ever. It hadn't stopped her from tugging it over her shoulders as she scoured her desk, feeling the metallic clank against her fingertips. The gun, she noted, felt much colder on her palms than she remembered it to be.

By the fourth week she had developed a system of sorts. She couldn't simply weave her way into homes any more than she could fast forward time and skip through those sleepless nights, or blow a hole into her empty stomach. She gathered more from her strolls through various households, setting an hour or two each day to explore the forest. This time she did it with careful precision, and marked each tree with every intention of finding her way back.

She would do this every day, striving to find some kind of normalcy in the routine. And every day right after, she'd end up on Mifflin Street and linger just outside the gates of the mansion.

It's not like it was a conscious decision. It would just… happen.

Often.

Far too often than Emma would like to admit. But in her defense, she needed to know Regina hadn't up and left her. She needed to know that she wasn't _alone_.

She had almost stopped altogether the first time she was caught, or nearly caught, as Emma had turned away so fast she had a whiplash. Granted, how was _she _supposed to know the Mayor would step out of the doorway at that exact moment? It had all been glimpses through windows and shadows until then.

Afterward it became a common occurrence; seeing the former Queen outside in the flesh.

Emma never stayed long enough to dwell on the string of doubt residing inside her.

Today was different though. She skipped the extra two mile trip and instead hiked her way back to the dreary apartment she still considered home, bag weighing heavily against her shoulders. It was getting dark now, with the sun reaching its peak across the horizon. She kept her flashlight on the whole way.

By the time she planted a shoulder against the doorway to the apartment, a musky smell, something akin to smoke and the slightest hint of sweat, wafted through her senses. She wrinkled her nose briefly before setting the bag down on the floor, or what was left of the floor, seeing as the hardwood floors were now blanketed by multiple pieces of clothing and empty cans. She sighed and, lighting up the nearest candle, clumsily plopped down on the sofa.

She then helped herself to one of the chocolate bars she'd taken from the store. It was somewhat stale, she noticed, or maybe that was her appetite talking. She didn't _feel _hungry. She hadn't in a long while.

Slipping the wrapper over the table, she let her thoughts drift momentarily to Henry, and wondered what he was doing. Was he with her parents right then? Did he miss her? Did _they _miss her? She'd been gone for over a month now, and while she knew they would've stopped at nothing to look for her, everyone had their breaking point. She wondered when theirs would be, and if she'd be back in her own world before it happened. Before she found herself in the midst of another family who'd forgotten all about her.

She thought about Killian often, too. Emma couldn't find it in herself to miss him all that much, honestly. She had grown used to his presence lately, and in a way that made this whole scenario lonelier than it should be. But it was a month without the awkward kisses, the adoring puppy dog eyes or endless flirting. So while his presence was missed, the experience wasn't.

She had no doubt that Hook would be right by her parents' side searching for her, maybe to an even more extravagant extent. But in the end he was still, and will always be, a pirate. And pirates run.

She thought about Regina.

A frown curled at her lips, and without a thought she clasped onto the folding knife she had tucked into her right pocket, fixing it against the table's edge with a single carved out stroke that matched all the others lined across the wooden surface. Each line represented a day.

She figured if she was going to be stuck here for a while, she'd keep account of the days that passed, not that time really mattered in this world. In _her _world, sure. That's all that mattered to her at this point.

Her lips parted as she silently counted the lines carved lightly over the smooth surface. She counted twice.

Thirty-four lines.

Thirty-four _days_.

The number seemed so much bigger in this world. But then again, time is a funny thing.

She caught herself before the tears could break, allowing the strain in her throat to dull into a hoarse cough. She learned a long time ago that crying gets you nowhere. Neither does hope, but in these circumstances there's always an exception.

It was all she had left anyway.

Blowing out a huff, her eyes fell back to the marred table surface. And she began counting again.

_One, two, three…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Lights Will Carry On

**Author: **misscanteloupe

**Rating: **M

**Summary: **One argument. One mistake. When a burst of accidental magic goes horribly wrong, Emma and Regina find themselves in a reality where Storybrooke still exists, but as a shadow of what it once was. Just the two of them. Finding a way back home isn't the issue anymore when you're trapped with the woman who hates your guts. Post 3B. Swan Queen.

**A/N: **There's a glitch going on in ffnet where new chapters aren't being posted. Hopefully this works?

Thanks to everyone who's followed and reviewed! I appreciate it!

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* * *

God, she was so screwed.

You would think she'd have learned her lesson by now, encountering more than enough frightening visuals – and potential death threats – to last a good year or so. She had taken to caution at any opportunity, strengthened her senses for the sake of survival, and yet, somehow, Emma had succeeded in striking a deal with death yet _again_.

Maybe Regina was right. Maybe she _was_ an idiot.

It was just that morning when Emma reluctantly made the decision to take the day off, or rather save some of the strength her ankle was sorely lacking. After a particularly bad run-in with a storm the day before, she had caught her foot on a vine during her forest rounds, which had launched her to the ground and pulled a muscle. She'd succeeded in limping her way back home before the storm worsened, though at the price of waking up with a sore, and now deeply discolored ankle.

It still hurt; a whole freaking lot, actually. She was almost scared to admit that the damage was worse than it looked, bruised _or _sprained.

While she didn't plan on testing her luck with a trip down Main Street, she didn't think she could do much lying in a pit of her own filth. And she'll be damned if she was going to stay in that draft apartment all day. If she was going to die here, she didn't plan on doing it in her own sweat.

So in a way, she _was _testing her luck. Her excuse for stopping by Granny's for a cup of coffee suddenly seemed so corny now that she thought about it. She just didn't want to admit the place brought back memories she wanted to preserve.

So when she slipped into the cool, deceptively welcoming diner, she was struck by the daunting images fluttering her mind. The familiarity of it all almost brought back a sense of… homesickness. It physically pained her to think she would never get over how empty it had become.

She shook her head to banish her wistful thoughts, and decided then that she had brooded over the can'ts and have beens long enough. Leaving the door ajar, she crossed the room and settled herself behind the counter, wondering not for the first time whether her initiative was even worth the trip down. She had learned from Ruby that their more popular coffee flavors were kept outside the stock room for easier access, and the coffee maker wasn't all that hard to use… though judging by the dimness of the room there wouldn't be anything to power it.

Breathing out a small sigh, she let her bag drop to the floor and listened to the light rattle of the objects clank against the other as she cupped her face into her palms. And, well… _that _might've been the mistake that threw her off, because she heard the low, rumbling growl before her mind could warp around the idea that she wasn't actually alone.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide as they darted to the source of the growl by the corner booth. Somewhere in the darkened range she caught the ravenous gaze meeting her own.

It wasn't a large wolf. In fact, its scrawny form and dark, matted fur gave Emma the impression the thing hadn't eaten in days, which… _okay_. A hungry wolf made for a bloodthirsty wolf, and seeing its teeth baring threateningly at her… that wasn't such a good thing.

Immediately her hand lurched for the gun in her left side pocket, a movement that caused a sudden jolt in the creature's stance.

Her fingers stilled over the handle. For a moment she considered running, and just as quickly shot it down. There was no way she could outrun a wolf, especially in her condition; not to mention the doorway looked to be so much farther away now that her life was at risk.

She crouched low on her knees with a soft, "Easy there." The lack of response didn't surprise her. Obviously she didn't actually _expect_ it to answer, but… "You don't wanna eat this, trust me. I probably taste as bad as I look."

Another growl, and this time Emma slowly inched her way around the pistol, gripping it tightly in place. "I had a friend once who could, you know, turn into a wolf, too," she continued carefully, balancing her weight on one side as she treaded back. "Not that _you _can… just. You'd probably like her. Her name's Ruby."

She tried to ignore the wild thudding in her ribcage once she was able to gain some leverage on her feet, reminding her once more of her swollen ankle. "I'm guessing you don't have a name?" she tried stiffly, eyes darting to the kitchen doorway before snapping back. "You're a boy, right? How about Luke?"

A growl.

She winced. "Sorry. Luna?"

Taking another cautious step back, a glance at the door left her momentarily blind to the sack of flour sprawled by her feet. Her footing was lost, causing her to stumble back against the row of plates lined up on the counter as she was knocked to the ground.

One by one the plates toppled over, shattering to the floor in a whirlwind of glass and flying shards, and then a silence that would've proven to be deafening if it hadn't been for the vicious snarl looming a few feet away.

_Shit_.

In the span of a second a blur of gray, matted fur suddenly came into her line of sight, giving her just enough time to raise her foot up and smash it straight into its gnarling teeth. Emma clenched her eyes shut as a rush of heat shot up her spine and into her skull, and she could only assume she had used her injured foot in defense.

Grabbling for her gun, she scrabbled backwards against her elbows until her vision cleared enough to send a bullet in the direction she detected movement. It reverberated through the walls with thundering precision.

She shot another one when that one failed, and then another, each round missing the target by inches.

Her arm trembled slightly in her attempt to aim, though before long a weight had settled over her chest, slamming her body against the cold, tiled floor. The gun jerked away from her grip and slid to the wall, leaving her exposed to the wolf's brutal snarls and claws.

Just as she thought she was about to meet her demise here, in a pile of her own flesh and guts, she charged forth with her elbow.

And hurled it into the wolf's snout.

A whimper, and then it slid off to the side, granting her the resolve to plod on all fours through the kitchen door and towards the storage unit she adopted as her last resort.

The next attack was expected, though she felt rather than heard the scuffling claws approaching from behind. With a sharp hiss, she was able to lay some of the weight on her bad ankle and skitter across the floor in time to avoid impact.

The wolf smashed into the metal plate rack settled right beside her, and Emma took the recovery period to slip in through a second door leading into the storage room.

A growl resonated from the other side, causing her to lurch back with all the force she had to swing the door in with her. The result was a startled whine as the wolf's head lunged in between the frame, meeting the force of the blow. Emma swung at the door once more, this time without any resistance, and felt the relief tumble over her at the sound of the soft click of the lock.

The cries continued, only to be replaced by a vibrating crash just outside the wall. It swept up the floor boards and echoed through the doorway, driving Emma back into the opposite wall and into a shelf of decayed fruits.

She sat there quietly for several long moments, willing the wild thudding in her chest to slow down before she settled back in a rush of pure exhaustion. The adrenaline had quickly drained her, and soon enough she was sitting in a heap of weak limbs, staring aimlessly at the door in front of her.

Silence.

She wasn't sure what to think of that. Could it be waiting for her? Willing her to come out before it lunged for another attack? Did it leave? Or did she injure it enough for it to be considered fatal?

Was it _dead_?

She sure as hell couldn't take the chance after everything that's happened. Her foot felt like it was at the verge of swelling to the size of her head. Somehow it looked more discolored than it did before.

So she grunted, and then waited. Waited until seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours. Or maybe it was just one hour. Either way she was slowly sinking into the depths of crazyville.

Carefully, and by carefully she means slumping forward into a graceless crawl, she edged her way to the other side of the room, pressing her cheek against the cool metal door. Her ear searched for any signs of movement, a rustle, or even another whine to accommodate the dead silence lingering over the doorway.

Heaving out a strained sigh, she grasped the doorknob and leaned into it, forcing some of her weight into the metal exterior.

It didn't budge.

She tried again, this time exerting all the energy she could to pry the door from the frame, where it gave in an inch or so before she felt resistance on the other side.

Something was blocking the doorway.

Through the little bit of movement, Emma was able to see the source of the resistance – a tray dispenser that had somehow fallen over the door, leaving no room to slip in sideways. With a frustrated breath, she chucked a hair out of her face and pushed, _hard_, nearly dislocating her shoulder from the brunt of the impact.

Nothing. The door wouldn't so much as _move_.

She slunk back into a sitting position, grasping at any openings she might've missed. But there wasn't a side door on any of the four walls, or some thin contraption she could slide in through the crack. It was simply a cramped, narrow room filled with rotten fruits and boxes.

She felt the violent thuds pounding at her ribcage again.

Well… fuck.

* * *

Regina hadn't managed a blink of sleep.

It was not so much that she _couldn't _sleep, as a nice warm cup of herbal tea could've easily fixed the problem. And in worst case scenarios, she did carry several sleeping tablets she had come to acquire from an outdated prescription. She didn't have much of a need for them, though.

It was more due to the fact that she didn't _want _to sleep, as ridiculous as it was. She would spend countless hours working silently in her office, as a distraction of sorts, until she would inevitably have to face the unshakeable truth. The reality of the situation. Sleeping had its purposes when she needed them, yet at the moment she could do without her dreams. They were ominous enough as they were.

Her wary brain had then naturally drifted off to thoughts of Henry and Robin, and finally, Emma.

In her defense, it was virtually impossible not to think of the blonde when in some distant part of her mind she knew she was not actually alone in her troubles. If that damn woman had even an ounce of intellect behind all the _Charming_, she certainly could've survived this long. Whether or not she had was the question, one that initially plagued her thoughts once she was able to skim past the layer of anger brimming beneath the surface.

It was different now. As hard as she tried to fight it, she found herself wondering more often.

It was rather dreadful.

Because for whatever reason she didn't actually _want_ Emma dead. Perhaps in the beginning she was more favorable to the outcome. She would have Henry to herself again. And she wouldn't have to deal with a lovesick pirate popping up at every corner.

But then again, what was the point? Either way she was stuck here with no form of gratification. The pirate could drown himself in the ocean and she wouldn't be there to see it.

So she didn't necessarily want Emma dead. There was still no reason to dwell on the possibility. It wasn't as if she _missed _the woman. That would be…

Well that would be preposterous.

The lack of sleep was starting to meddle with her head, and a glance towards the clock – as if time made a difference anymore – told her it was just after nine in the morning. Sliding her reading glasses from her face, she put away the rest of her books and notes she had jotted down the previous night and made for the kitchen. A quick breakfast would have to do for now, and maybe a shower if she had several more bathing accessories at her disposal.

She noticed with a frown that her movements were significantly more sluggish than usual. While it was a daily occurrence now that she was officially sleep deprived, it still didn't stop her from being in a sour mood.

As casually as she could, she settled down on a chair with a steaming mug of coffee tucked between her palms, her mind once again reverting back to solemn thoughts, and that was when she heard it.

It was faint, clearly a sound resonating from a distance, but it echoed just as loud into Regina's ears as a bullet would.

And that was indeed what it sounded like.

Gingerly setting the mug on the table, Regina stood and traipsed over to the window leading to the gates, as if peeking into her front lawn would magically direct her to the source of the noise. Obviously it didn't. The turf was as untamed as ever, having no one to work on it during the summer days, and the street ahead looked particularly haunting now that no one had stepped foot on it in over a month.

A frown marred her lips before she let the curtain fall back in its place. She had to have imagined it – just like every headache-inducing, clouded image produced in this miserable godforsaken –

Again.

There it was again. This time the sound reverberated twice before merging back into the surrounding silence, and slowly but surely her curiosity got the best of her.

It looks like her question was answered sooner than she expected, what with the Savior evidently alive and well, and somehow coming into possession of a gun to shoot rounds for whatever absurd reason.

_Unless_ the shots were done through threatening means, in which case the curious shade in her dwindled to something akin to… concern?

Regina snorted at the notion. Like hell she was going to burden herself with inconsequential feelings towards the one person who brought her into this mess. Least of all _concern_.

And yet, her uneasy state told her otherwise. All she felt now was a grim and heavy weight pulsating in her chest, hammering away at her temple, and any notion of life or death simply simmered away in what definitely _felt _like… concern.

If the idiot actually did get herself killed –

Regina scowled and whirled from the window, grabbing a jacket on her way to the door. She needed to gather more supplies anyway, and drawing fresh air from somewhere other than her porch might do her some good. And maybe she'll run into said idiot. And maybe then Regina could finally relieve her mind of her until they find a way back.

_They_. Because she didn't need a reason for Henry to hate her.

* * *

Several hours later and she was no closer in accomplishing her goal than she was that morning. And quite frankly, Regina was not happy.

It shouldn't have been taking this long to find her. Regina had stopped by the Charmings' apartment first, as it made the most sense. Lo and behold, most of Emma's things were there, along with a large deposit of trash that had Regina curling her lip in disgust.

Obviously the blonde wasn't home.

Eventually she was forced to run through every possible location the Sheriff could be. And it wasn't until the twinge of concern coincidentally morphed into panic that it dawned on her what the missing piece was.

The diner.

The blasted door was open.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes and instead settled for a sigh, taking the time to study the shabby looking hut before stepping inside. Her eyes narrowed upon seeing the multiple damages strewn around the room; chairs were shuffled on the ground and pieces of glass cracked noisily beneath the soles of her shoes.

By then she had caught sight of the ratty bag lying carelessly behind the counter.

She crossed her arms over her chest with a pinched look. "Is there any particular reason why you decided to vandalize private property?" she inquired into the air, pursing her lips when she received no response. Her eyes wandered to the opposite wall and absorbed the two even pits strongly resembling bullet holes.

Her jaw twitched in barely concealed unease. "I don't take kindly to being ignored, Miss Swan," she said in a stoic tone, refusing to allow her voice to waver. "Nor did I come all the way here to speak to a wall."

She sucked in a loud breath when a soft bustling broke into the air, followed by an equally soft –

"Regina?"

Regina felt the tension fall from her shoulders, and quickly disregarded the mixture of relief and confusion that stole her face. Striding past the glass littering the floor, she followed the source of the voice through the kitchen door, where the muffled words continued from another room.

"There's something blocking the door. I can't get it to open," came the quiet reply.

Regina eyed the metal contraption with a frown. "I see you've managed to inherit the worst of your father's traits," she observed.

"Regina," Emma said exasperatedly. "Don't start."

"Dare I ask?"

"Just open the stupid door."

This time Regina did roll her eyes. Despite it all, she moved to levitate the dispenser from the doorway, only to pause in irritation.

She couldn't quite levitate anything when she had no magic now, could she?

A sharp inhale worked through her lungs before she relented to the physical strain of pushing the large contraption out of the way. It took a bit of effort, seeing that a good portion of it was rammed tightly against one of the counters, but she pushed it aside and shoved open the door in a brutish manner.

Wide eyes snapped up to meet her own stony gaze, which roamed past the blonde's sickly pale expression in the form of a cringe. Regina had never given much thought to the other woman's appearance before, as it was always the same, though she knew for a fact that Emma had never been that thin before. Or white.

"You look terrible," Regina noted bluntly, raising a brow.

Emma took the insult in stride, mostly because she didn't need to be told something she already knew. Plus Regina didn't look to be fairing much better. Looking at her now, Emma could see how far her eyes had receded, and how pale she'd gotten.

And it really kind of annoyed her that those little differences _still _made her look pretty good.

"Yeah, well. So do you," Emma lied, casting a wary glance up ahead. "And hello to you, too, Regina. How have you been for the last _month_?"

Regina ignored her, folding her arms over her chest. "Want to explain how on earth you ended up in here?"

"Not really."

Regina frowned and lowered her head to eye the blonde impatiently. "Then I have no reason to be here," she said squarely, pushing her shoulders back as she turned to retreat. "Consider it a debt paid."

She had no intention of leaving without at least getting some answers first. And while Emma's usual stubborn poise was starting to grate on her nerves, Regina refused to be the first to back down.

"You really are a piece of work, you know that," Emma said, her tone brisk.

Regina stopped in her tracks. "Excuse me?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Emma bit out, sending her a stern glare. "I spent the last month working my _ass off _trying to find a way back. And you – you just walked away. Did you even stop to _think _that maybe we'd be home by now if we actually stuck together? And now suddenly you show up, after a wolf nearly eats my face off and you have the _nerve_ –"

"Wolf?" Regina asked, shooting Emma a look contorted between confusion and surprise.

Emma huffed. Figures that would be the first thing Regina picked up on, undoubtedly out of disappointment that Emma hadn't had her face ripped open.

"Yeah. A wolf," Emma repeated uncertainly, and again her gaze wavered to a spot behind Regina. "It's dead, right?"

Regina followed Emma's line of sight to the other side of the room and allowed her eyes to take in the unmoving, scrawny form of the supposed 'wolf' that she admittedly hadn't noticed before. Its head had suffered a great deal of damage if the blood-stained wound was anything to go by.

"Hm," she acknowledged before turning back to the blonde, whose gaze lingered over the lifeless form. "A shame."

Emma's eyes snapped back to hers, which then narrowed into suspicious slits before she parted her lips in a resigned, "What're you doing here, Regina?"

The brunette in question stiffened. In truth she didn't know how to respond to that, as she still wasn't quite sure of the reason herself. She could've just as easily avoided answering with a condescending remark, but observing the state she was in, the state they were _both_ in, she decided then that honesty would have to do.

"I heard the gunfire," Regina explained, lifting her chin to give her a long stare.

Emma in turn held her breath as she waited for the clarification to sink in, shifting uncomfortably underneath the scrutinizing stare. And suddenly it clicked, and she pinned Regina with a look of her own that immediately flashed in understanding.

"You were worried," Emma breathed in curiously, brows furrowed in disbelief.

Regina actually coughed in bewilderment. "I beg your pardon?" she said, mimicking Emma's cynical tone. "I think not."

But Emma caught the brief flicker of uncertainty behind the masked expression, and that was more than enough. "You were," she repeated, and twisted her mouth into that familiar smug grin of hers. "Admit it."

Regina would truthfully give up her newfound hero status and murder anyone in cold blood if she were ever accused of sputtering. Regina Mills did _not _sputter.

And yet, her reaction closely resembled that of a sputtering fool. She felt the spark of outrage morph into her face, only to falter when Emma spewed out a hiss, her own features weaving into a grimace.

"Sorry," Emma said. She ignored Regina's skeptical stare and tended to her foot. "Bad ankle."

Regina kept her expression carefully indifferent as she crouched over the sprawled leg and examined the damage with guarded eyes. She paid no mind to Emma's protest when she rolled over the bottom seam of the jeans, revealing the swollen, discolored area.

Emma startled somewhat when the older woman stood and briskly acknowledged her with a nod.

"I think it's just sprained," Regina informed her, and held out her hand in offering. "It's a wonder you've survived this long."

Emma stared at the gesture with a blank expression, from Regina's annoyed face and back to the hand, before finally deciding it was close enough to an apology that she was going to get. She accepted the palm and pushed herself up, wincing when some of the weight wobbled over to her bad foot.

"Can you walk?"

"Um, yeah," Emma affirmed with little certainty. She leaned over to one side before murmuring, "I think so."

Regina nodded and led herself out through the kitchen door. She listened for the shuffle of movement behind her before making for the hideous looking bag on the floor. It hadn't even been an hour and already she was feeling the suffocating effects of her decision.

"Where're we going?" Emma asked her, eyeing the gun on the floor with an ashen face. She leaned over gracelessly and pocketed it.

"I won't have my son resent me for the rest of my life because I let his birth mother die in another realm," Regina offered over her shoulder, and with that, she sauntered back to the entrance and out into the crisp afternoon air.

* * *

Emma could vaguely what the inside of Regina's mansion looked like, even after all those times she'd been there to assist with Zelena, or dropped off Henry at the door. Remembering it wasn't the same as seeing it for herself again. Nothing had really changed, though, so the familiarity sort of sprung up on her once she was seated on the same expensive sofa with the infamous glass of cider.

Déjà vu much?

When Regina returned with a bag of ice, and what looked like a bottle of tablets, she couldn't help but question the Mayor's motives once more. It didn't make any sense that Regina would come looking for her after all this time. Sure, there was the gunfire, and Henry to consider – for _his _sake.

But… wasn't that always the excuse?

"I hope you're not allergic to aspirin," Regina offered in a skeptical tone, handing Emma the bottle and, with brief hesitation, did the same with the ice bag. "Seeing it's all I have."

Emma accepted the items with a grateful nod, though she had to balance it all in one hand considering the cider still preoccupied her other one.

"How bad is it?" she muttered a little distantly, holding the ice bag to her swollen ankle. She decided to forego the painkillers for now if the alcohol was there to down it with.

"I'm not a doctor," Regina drawled and took a seat on the opposite lounge. She skimmed over Emma's glare with an additional, "Henry sprained his ankle once. I assume you'll be fine if you rest the next couple of days."

Emma nodded, oddly enough feeling reassured by the other woman's word. She lay the bag carefully over her foot, which had found a place over the edge of the coffee table. Glancing up, she didn't miss the disapproving scowl aimed at the display, but other than that there was no biting remark.

She shrank back into her seat uneasily. "So what now?"

"Now you rest," Regina said with a flippant wave of her hand, and Emma couldn't help but notice the way Regina's nose wrinkled afterward. "And perhaps shower. You smell like a wet dog."

Emma tried to keep her blush at bay. Her face burned hotly nonetheless as she quietly argued, "Oh, I'm sorry. Maybe next time I'll worry about hygiene when I'm not risking my life in some other reality."

"If I recall, it was uncontrolled _magic _that brought us here," Regina countered, regurgitating the words with a venomous look. "So whose fault would that be?"

"You think I don't already know that?" Emma retorted. "What do you think I've been _doing _for the last month? I've tried everything I could think of to find a way back."

"As have I," Regina sneered, receiving a bewildered glance in return. "And yet here we are. I'd like to think even you aren't dense enough to know what that means."

Emma felt her jaw twitch, but the hollow swell in the pit of her stomach ceased all the bite from her next words. "There's no magic in this world," she whispered faintly, almost somberly.

"Precisely," Regina assented from the other end. She grasped her own glass of cider delicately between her fingers before placing it over the table, pinning the blonde with a reproachful stare. "I have several theories from the research I've encountered, but nothing set in stone," she continued, analyzing Emma's features briefly before adding, "My best guess is that it was some sort of energy projection, which ironically enough would be a form of white magic that brought us here."

"Isn't white magic… good?" Emma asked.

"You would assume that, wouldn't you?" Regina said crisply, apparently annoyed at the notion. "Did you ever think that magic itself is colorless? That maybe there's a path to darkness to anything you consider 'white?' It was your anger that triggered it, after all."

Emma didn't like the sound of that, not that she could argue over the fundamentals of magic when she knew next to nothing about any of it.

"That's different," Emma said in defense. "Magic's tied to emotion. You said it yourself. Just because I was angry doesn't mean I'm going dark –"

"I never said you were," Regina interrupted in a bored tone. "At your rate falling into the dark side would take years. And you're too much of a goody-two-shoes."

Emma's forehead creased. She ignored the jab as she asked, "So what you mean by energy projection, then?"

At this Regina pursed her lips, remaining silent as she observed Emma with calculating eyes. Emma would be lying if she said the attention didn't make her uncomfortable, because who the hell would ever want to be on the other end of _that _look?

Finally Regina rose to her feet. "There are only so many ways to create a portal without the use of an outlet. And magic that powerful requires manipulating the energy around you. Projecting it. In this case you'd be absorbing it," she explained calmly, almost too calmly. "White magic."

"Are you telling me I _absorbed_ magic?" Emma asked disbelievingly, eyebrows rising high above her forehead.

"Did I stutter?" Regina proclaimed, with a finality in her tone that clearly meant the end of the discussion. "I'll be in my study for the evening. There are towels in the guest bathroom when you're able to stand. Feel free to use them."

She then turned on her heel and disappeared from Emma's view, leaving the blonde in her pitiful state with an ice bag sprawled over her ankle.

She _did _get her shower later that night, however, and another one right after for the sake of relishing the working hot water pipes. It was a luxury she didn't have back at the apartment – part of the reason why she neglected her hygiene for days at a time. Who wanted to shower in freezing cold water?

After a few days she also learned, with some careful probing from an irritable Regina, that the mansion was supplied with its own generator, hence the working electricity. Emma had lost count of the number of power outages Storybrooke's had to endure due to miniscule things, and so she counted herself lucky Regina had thought ahead to have one built, nonetheless have the money to afford it.

She didn't see Regina much during her first week of resting. Her ankle was still too sore for any serious walking, so scouting the town was out of the question. Thankfully it didn't seem to be all that severe.

But in the times she did get out of her room, Regina was usually nowhere to be seen, and Emma simply assumed she was in her study doing God knows what. She couldn't complain, though. It was definitely better than the inevitable bickering that would occur if they did happen to face each other.

And so Emma kept to herself, wandering the mansion when she couldn't stay in bed any longer, occasionally dropping by Henry's room, and stepping outside for some fresh air.

It was during a lunch date with a twinkie she had found in her bag that she finally bumped into Regina, and in the kitchen no less. She was dressed casually, or as casually as you could get in former clothes, like she had just gotten back from an outing. And the disgusted sneer she had given Emma's meal choice didn't go unnoticed. Otherwise there were no words exchanged between the two before the brunette pointedly ignored Emma and brushed past her back upstairs.

The next day there, sitting on the counter, was a fresh plate of spaghetti.

At first Emma had been suspicious, and maybe a bit unnerved, as she had every right to be ever since the turnover incident. She didn't doubt the meal was for her. How could she when it was sitting over the island with a note that clearly slandered her dieting habits?

The question was… why?

As it turns out, Emma didn't think too much of it. She blamed her raging hunger for devouring the plate after only a few seconds of deliberation. And considering she was still standing afterward, she figured it wasn't poisoned.

It happened again the next day, though, this time with a side of fresh vegetables and some kind of soup that tasted like chicken broth.

And the day after.

And every day from that point on. Regina never mentioned it, and so Emma never did either.

By the second week she could walk again without the extra limp in her step. She used the quick recovery to her advantage by returning to her routine of scavenging for supplies, scheduling her search for a source of magic for a later time when she was sure she was fully healed.

Coincidentally enough, it was around the same time she'd occasionally find Regina outside of her study, reading leisurely over on one of her lounge chairs. The brunette didn't acknowledge her as Emma would return from one of her outings, carrying what she could from the old apartment. Truthfully it was starting to grate on her nerves.

Until one day she broke the silence.

"I have an idea."

Regina peered up from her book to find herself on the receiving end of the one of the blonde's most aggravating stares; it was a mixture of determination and a dab of what Regina might call impertinence.

It took a great deal of her effort not to respond with her usual scorn. She hadn't realized it at first, as her workload had driven her thoughts more often than not, but ignoring Emma had become somewhat of a second nature to her, as it had been in the real world. It was more of a defense mechanism than anything else – she had the Savior in her home, _not dead_, and wouldn't have to explain to Henry when they got back why his birth mother's body had remained in some alternate realm. She could even put the wandering thoughts and the what ifs to rest.

At the same time it was difficult not to notice how Emma's presence – what, with the persistent clatters and door banging – had filled the empty void in her house since their arrival.

She wasn't about to let herself be distracted by Emma's crazier tendencies, however. Regina had gritted her teeth to the point of wearing her jaw out when she discovered the blonde's repulsive eating habits, and rebuked herself for not noticing before. No wonder Emma was so damn thin.

And now – _now _Regina could hardly concentrate on her work, not when the fool continued to traipse around town with an ongoing death wish.

Distraction indeed.

Putting the book aside, Regina felt her lip twitch when she took in Emma's sudden discomfort. "Is that so?" she supplied, drawing out the words with, "Be that as it may, I don't have time for any frivolous 'ideas' you might have –"

"Just hear me out, alright?" Emma cut in, taking the brunette's silent glare as permission to continue. "You remember what happened last time, right? I was angry. _Really _angry, and for whatever reason that's what landed us in here."

Dark eyes flickered pensively as Regina regarded the other woman, somehow knowing where this conversation was headed.

"So do it again," Emma continued, or demanded, rather, in a tone that lacked a challenging edge.

She arched a questioning eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Make me angry," Emma elaborated, and quickly Regina felt her features falter before she could stop herself.

"_That's _your genius plan?" Regina countered, flashing the blonde a piercing look. "Are you really so naïve to think that would actually work?"

"And why wouldn't it?"

"Because there _is _no magic," Regina hissed, submerging herself in the truth she'd been trying so hard to avoid. "Even a half-wit like you should understand those implications. We are _stranded. _So unless you can come up with an alternative proposal that _doesn't_ involve sucking the energy out with your trivial emotions, then by all means, keep your 'ideas' to yourself."

Blood rushed to Emma's head, either from embarrassment or anger, she couldn't tell. But she retained her composure with a blank expression as she admitted, "You're wrong." At Regina's answering scoff, she added, "Think about it. This place shouldn't even _exist_, Regina. It was magic that brought us here, and it's magic that's keeping us in. Why else does it bring us back when we try to leave?"

The surprise that flared over the brunette's face sparked a level of incredulity in Emma. "You didn't know?" she murmured in a scratchy voice.

She took the resulting glare as a no.

"There's no way out," Emma explained tentatively. "The main road leads you back in no matter what. Almost like there's – oh, I don't know – _magic _built in somewhere."

"That doesn't prove anything."

"Maybe not," Emma conceded with a low brow. "But it doesn't hurt to give my idea a try."

"You're suggesting that I 'rile you up,' so to speak," Regina pronounced slowly. It wasn't a question.

Emma swallowed a nervous lump in her throat, but proceeded to shrug. "If you want to call it that. Sure."

"It's a stupid idea," the brunette stated curtly.

"And why's that?" Emma muttered, reining in the impulse to show just how quick tempered she could be. "You had no problem getting under my skin before."

"I was never _under your skin_," Regina argued with somewhat of a repulsed rumble. "Perhaps in some of your sordid fantasies."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"However you want to interpret it," Regina replied, but there was a sultry edge to her tone that definitely put Emma on edge. "Though I'm curious if that's the case. I never would have pegged you as the type to harbor a secret attraction."

Emma drew in her mortification in a deep breath. "You think I –" she trailed off with a shake of her head. Of all things – "You're _insane_."

"Lying was never your strong suit, you know."

"I'm not lying," Emma bit out, and for some reason felt the need to validate her own claim. "And you're out of your mind. I'm not even gay –"

"Who is it that you're trying to convince?" Regina asked. "Yourself?"

Emma clenched her teeth. "You know what? I see your point. This was a bad idea."

"Or maybe I'm wrong and it has nothing to do with me at all," Regina carried on in an almost thoughtful manner. "So who would it be then? Is the pirate not satisfying you?"

"Killian?" she echoed, voice sharp. She faltered when she realized how disturbing _that _particular image was. "Okay, no. Leave him out of this –"

She scoffed. "But am I wrong?"

"No – _yes_," Emma hissed in response, curling her hands into tight fists. "Who I sleep with is none of your business! In fact, don't mention him at all!"

"I've made it my business when you decided to bring that imbecile into Henry's life."

"Hook is good with Henry," Emma retorted.

"_Hook _is a criminal who should not be left around children," Regina snapped, unable to stop herself now that their argument had reached a more personal matter. "A quick rendezvous on some filthy pirate ship does not suddenly make him Henry's other guardian!"

"_How dare you?_" Emma screamed in outrage, marching the few steps to stand before the other woman. "You have _NO _right to assume _ANYTHING _about me –"

"Oh, I'll assume what I please –"

"And figure what?" Emma snarled. "That someone could actually want me? That I'm _human_?"

The scene was oddly similar to their last argument over a month ago, in the way that it brought forth their worst sides. This time however, Regina was all too aware of what was happening. She could see it in the once snowy features in Emma's face now marred by angry lines, and the unforgiving spark in her glare that shone faintly with unshed tears. And she knew then that she was about one comment away from seeing it all burst at the seams, causing her next words to stumble from her mouth in a calm, yet icy drawl.

"Or a common whore."

It was the moment she knew she had pushed too far again, which was what she was aiming for anyway. Although it didn't make the surprise of having a vase thrown over her head any less unexpected.

She moved away in time for the glass to shatter into the wall behind her. Shards flew into the air and scattered over her floors, but Regina paid no mind to it. It was painfully clear then what the difference was between this moment and the last.

"Does _that_ answer your question?" Regina hissed and gestured towards the air. "_No magic_."

"You didn't have to be so cruel about it," Emma snapped back. She was visibly shaking, her face ashen from the emotional drain.

"You wanted to try this idea of yours, and we tried it," Regina declared, before kicking aside a large shard of glass. "And look what good that has done us. Throwing things like a child."

Emma didn't answer. All the anger and tension she'd built up disappeared as quickly as the instinct was to throw that vase. Now she didn't feel much of anything besides dread.

It was worth a shot, but at the aftermath of it all?

She wasn't so sure anymore.

"I'm going back to my study," Regina informed her, casting a sour glance at the pieces of what used to be a vase. "Feel free to clean this mess up."

Emma swallowed as the brunette brushed past her. Before Regina could make it to the stairwell, Emma stopped her.

"Did you mean it?" she asked, watching as the other woman came to a halt without turning. "All those things you said. Did you mean it all?"

For a long moment she didn't think Regina was going to answer. It only dawned on Emma then that the question could be taken in a multitude of ways, from their argument just then to all the things Regina had said to her that day in her office.

Finally Regina peered over her shoulder, not quite turning to look at Emma, before responding. "No."

That was all she said. She went back upstairs, and Emma waited until the footsteps receded to take a long look at the parlor around her, at the pieces of glass scattered around her feet. Emma sighed.

She shouldn't have thrown that stupid vase.

* * *

If you guys could take the time to tell me what you think, that would be wonderful :) I really have high hopes for this story and your thoughts are what keep me going.

Either way, thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Lights Will Carry On

**Author: **misscanteloupe

**Rating: **M

**Summary: **One argument. One mistake. When a burst of accidental magic goes horribly wrong, Emma and Regina find themselves in a reality where Storybrooke still exists, but as a shadow of what it once was. Just the two of them. Finding a way back home isn't the issue anymore when you're trapped with the woman who hates your guts. Post 3B. Swan Queen.

* * *

It's difficult to keep up with time when it suddenly becomes an illusion – a meaningless disarray of hours and inane activities.

Regina knew the feeling all too well. After twenty-eight years under the existence of a curse, under a life she had made for herself when the magnitude of the mere word held no significance, one would think she had grown accustomed to it.

It was in her nature to uphold a pattern in her daily rituals, to keep any semblance of normality in her life. Rinse and repeat.

That was her motto.

In truth, she couldn't even tell what day it was anymore. And the erratic patterns of that insufferable woman certainly didn't help.

Regina had a schedule, like she always did. And while she occasionally strayed off course for the sake of reflecting on her miserable life, particularly during the later hours, she preferred order. She _liked _order. She liked to shower at precisely a quarter to seven every morning, and lather after conditioning. She liked her coffee black with a touch of sugar, and read a section from her novel just before eight.

She liked to remain occupied with her research; maybe tend to her garden around noon and collect herbs for lunch.

She liked the doors closed, and her papers arranged at the edge of her desk, and her nightly glass of cider warm and sipped through a nice long hour of reading.

But most of all, she liked the quiet.

The _quiet_, she pondered, that she no longer had now that her home had been invaded. Granted, _invaded _might not be the correct word if it was her decision in the first place. Had she known, however, that she'd be gnashing her teeth to the incessant banging occurring outside her quarters, she would've revoked that decision a long time ago.

Emma Swan was going to be the death of her.

Another heavy thud leaked into the air and Regina instinctively reached for the clock on her bedside table, the anger in her stomach churning upon glaring at the time. It was just after five in the morning, meaning she had gotten a total of three hours of sleep. And her schedule was now officially off balance.

The scowl on her face only grew more prominent as the noise continued, polluting her atmosphere. Her head throbbed as she finally flung herself off the bed with little grace; something she might have deemed improper if she wasn't so _frustrated._

Slipping into her robe, Regina ignored the sudden bout of nausea that hit her and heaved the door open with a forceful tug. The brute strength of it nearly mimicked the bangs she'd been hearing all morning.

"_Miss Swan_," she uttered sharply, her eyes still somewhat groggy as they narrowed in on the guest room at the end of the hall.

Like magic, the blonde popped her head out, wearing an expression Regina could only assume was irritated.

"Yes?" Emma replied, folding her arms over her clumsily clad t-shirt.

Regina pursed her lips at the gesture. "You are getting on my last nerve. Stop this infernal racket already. I am trying to _sleep_."

"And you're telling me this now?" Emma countered, a frown marring her features. "Why not an hour ago?"

Grounding her teeth, Regina seethed, "I was _sleeping_."

Emma scraped her shoe against the floor with a huff. "Whatever," she muttered, before stalking back into the room.

Another thud echoed into the hallway, this one slightly less cringe-worthy than the last. But it didn't stop Regina from tugging the loose ends of her robe together in a harsh grip and making her way to the other end of the hall.

"What on earth are you even doing?" Regina snapped, peering into the room with nothing less than distaste.

The floor was covered in boxes, each consisting of items that Regina assumed had been shoved in the closet. Emma was already kneeling before the doorway and fishing through the rest of the contents.

"Not that you care," Emma replied. "And they're called earmuffs, by the way."

"Need I remind you that this is _my _house?" Regina retorted, glaring holes into Emma's retreating backside as she moved across the room. "I don't care if you have to sleep outside. I refuse to put up with this!"

"You brought me here," Emma pointed out, and suddenly she was in front of Regina again, matching the brunette's hard stare. "And you know what? Maybe if you could get over this vendetta you have against me for one minute, things would be different. Like – I don't know. We'd actually be getting stuff _done_."

Regina raised her eyebrows as she scoured the other girl's face for any signs of doubt, but all she saw in that moment was Emma's fierce determination blanketing a face of guilt – an expression she'd seen in Emma's many attempts to apologize. It never failed to cause to the scorching seeds of anger inside her to boil over.

"I saved your life," Regina muttered, craning her neck to loom over her. "Or did you forget that?"

"I was fine before you came in," Emma threw back.

"Ah, yes. You were _fine_. Locked in a storage unit with an incapacitated foot. How stupid of me."

"Alright, fine. You opened a door. So what? Do you want a medal now?" Emma bristled, drawing far closer than Regina was comfortable with. "After I saved your life countless times. Or did you forget _that_?"

If Emma was bothered by their proximity, she didn't show it, and Regina fought the urge to back away despite every instinct roaring at her to do so. The fact that she would even encroach on her space – former Evil Queen or not – served as reason enough to raise her chin and shove Emma away. However she felt… lightheaded; something she hadn't noticed until she darted her eyes over the other woman's face and realized she couldn't even bring herself to wrap her tongue in an insult.

She couldn't risk showing any amount of weakness, no matter how stoic or unreadable her expression remained. So, with some hesitance, Regina took a step back.

"I'm warning you," Regina stated calmly, and she hated how _weak _the words sounded in her own ears. "Keep the noise level down, or so help me –"

"Or what? You'll ransack my room again?" Emma cut in with challenging force.

At that, Regina faltered and shook her head. "What in god's name are you talking about?"

"My room," Emma repeated, gesturing to the mess. "My _clothes_. The ones that are suddenly missing after you apparently _ransacked _the place -"

"I did no such thing," Regina defended a bit too quickly, cursing herself for the abhorrent flush sweeping across her face.

Part of it was due to anger for immediately being accused of something so… juvenile. Why in the hell would she have a need to steal a pile of rags? It wasn't exactly fair that she was blamed for every miscreancy that ever happens.

The other part was embarrassment, when in a way… it was true. Any intention she had of keeping to herself was thrown out the window when Regina had caught sight of her guest room, where the complete disarray had pushed her enough to (reluctantly) gather whatever clothing that had been carelessly laid on the floor. _Said _clothes were now downstairs, washed, dried, and lumped in a laundry basket.

She would rather face accusation than admit to doing something – and it made her insides cringe from the thought – _nice._

"You're lying," Emma protested, darting her eyes over the brunette's rigid features that made Regina wonder whether this whole 'lie detector' wasn't as much of a sham as she'd thought. "I can tell when you are, remember?"

"Good for you," Regina said in a scathing retort. "Accusing the Queen. You know, any other realm and I might've had your head for that. Now, if that'll be all?"

She didn't give Emma much time to send her own mordant response. Regina turned to leave, but felt a firm grip coil around her wrist before she could put enough distance between the two. Her head whipped back at the contact and she sent a glare at the blonde, one that lacked its potential flare. If only she wasn't so damn _tired_.

"You're not the Evil Queen anymore, Regina," Emma insisted in an astonishingly gentle manner. "You're not her."

"Un. Hand. Me," Regina iterated slowly, growling out each syllable. Much to her surprise, Emma did.

She took a step back. "Just tell me where you put my jacket," Emma conceded with a frown. "You can burn the rest of my clothes for all I care. I just want my jacket back."

Regina clenched her jaw, but failed to keep the fleeting moment of confusion from her expression. "That leather monstrosity?" she clarified in a scoff. "You're mistaken if you think I would ever touch –"

"I'm serious," Emma urged, tilting her head to gaze at a pair of skeptical brown eyes.

"I don't have it."

At the very least Regina could admit that was the truth. She didn't recall seeing that hideous jacket in a while, and it seemed like Emma was able to detect the honesty in her words as well.

"Are you done?" Regina added brusquely. "At this rate, Miss Swan –"

"Emma," she interrupted, emphasizing the name with a defeated appearance. Stepping back into the room, Emma widened the gap between them before casting Regina a long, melancholic look that finalized the unexpected, "My name is Emma. If we're going to be stuck here together, you might as well call me by my name."

Before Regina could muster a proper retort, the door was closed, leaving behind a strained silence that put Regina ill at ease. It was the exhausted, stone-like feeling weighing over her shoulders that stopped her from hurling the door back open and continuing their conversation.

Instead Regina spun on her heel and marched back to her room, making sure to close the door carefully behind her rather than slam it shut like she would've liked. It wouldn't be very mature, though at this point she would be willing to give in for the sake of her own sanity.

Forgoing the shower for the time being, she had the sense to grow wary of her abrupt exhaustion, particularly when she collapsed into bed rather than slip in gracefully. The movement didn't go unnoticed by her.

But she didn't have the chance to dwell on it either, because before long she gave in to her fatigue.

PP

Emma couldn't explain where the sudden bout of frustration had come from. Normally she wouldn't fall so easily into any of Regina's traps, whether she was even attempting to egg her on or not. And… _okay_. So maybe she was prone to high level tantrums. It wasn't like Regina made it any less difficult for Emma either.

The woman could just be so damn frustrating.

It wasn't even the missing clothes that had triggered Emma's nerves that morning, when she had walked into her room after a long night of… drinking her sorrows away. She was a bit peeved that the area looked a lot less barren now without her clothes jumbled all over the floor, and that could only mean that _someone _was in there plundering her things.

But it was the realization that she couldn't find her red leather jacket anywhere that had set her off.

To say she was feeling little segments of guilt now would be an understatement. All it took was prolonged cool down period after that embarrassing spectacle to remember where she had last seen the jacket, and to recall that she hadn't brought it back with her in the first place.

It was that brief moment of comprehension that set Emma down a notch. Or ten. Possibly more considering she hadn't felt this guilty since the whole Marian incident.

How exactly do you apologize to your part-time frenemy for making false accusations?

Again.

Emma heaved out a sigh, knowing the answer was simple enough to warrant extreme caution. _You couldn't_.

Apologize, that is. Not when the argument was still so fresh in her mind, and probably Regina's too, that it would cause an even greater rift in this tentative olive branch they had. Regina already hated her for ruining her happy ending.

And here she was adding more fuel to the fire.

It might've been why she stopped herself from knocking on Regina's door an hour later, straining her ear for any sign of the brunette parading around in there.

There wasn't any.

In fact, as Emma listened closely, she became abundantly aware of the silence that struck the house. At this point Regina would be rustling around in her bathroom. Emma only knew this because the water pipes were about as loud as Henry's snoring, and woke her up long enough to study Regina's daily routine out of sheer boredom.

So if the pipes weren't running, and Regina hadn't already gone downstairs for her morning procedures, then that was even more reason not to disturb the brunette.

Though if she were being honest with herself, it was more of an excuse than a reason. And Emma decided to leave it at that.

She cast one last glance at the closed door before tip-toeing down the hall, the irony of it not escaping her attention as she quietly shut the door. She was tired – drained, really – and she didn't think the four hours she had spent passed out in front of the fireplace counted as sleep.

But none of that mattered as she treaded down the stairs, careful not to hit the creaky steps she was able to memorize over the last few weeks.

She just wanted her freaking jacket back.

* * *

The hike to the park wasn't nearly as serene as it was yesterday.

If anything it was a continuous struggle between many different emotions, most of which contained worry; worry that her memory wasn't as chalked up as she thought it would be, that the trip here was all for nothing. And maybe a _tiny _bit of fear that she'd head back to the mansion and find Regina threatening to carve her heart out with a knife.

The visual isn't all that hard to imagine when you have enough time on your hands.

She caught sight of that familiar red shade, however, and immediately the weight bearing down on her chest vanished in the form of relief. Her jacket was exactly where she had left it the day before – flung over the back of a park bench and, thankfully, fully intact.

She liked to come here sometimes to clear her mind, especially now that Autumn would be nearing its end soon, and taking a stroll wouldn't be as simple as closing the door on her way out.

There was also the bigger picture to look at, one that was becoming easier to ignore when there was enough fear to fuel it. The fact of the matter was that she was still stuck here, and was no closer to finding a way back home than she was two months ago.

That _that_ – that fucking terrified her.

And so Emma preferred not to think about it, only allowing her mind to dwell on possible sources of magic rather than the likelier possibility of never finding one. She wasn't the type to give up hope, not when Henry, her family… her whole life was at stake. And she wouldn't.

But for now she needed to fret over the smaller pictures, like how exactly she was going to survive an entire winter with someone who hated her guts.

Hunching over the bench, she grabbed hold of the jacket and grinned at the leather exterior pressed against her fingertips. It felt colder now that it had been left outside overnight, but she didn't mind once she shrugged it on. At least it blocked out some of the cool breeze.

She turned to leave then, barely tossing a second glance at the playground behind her when she came to a halt.

Her breaths stilled. She felt that well-known tingle across her shoulders and back, and knew immediately that she was being watched. It was a strange sensation when there was no one around to solidify the notion, at least no _human_. And that could only mean one thing.

Her hand slid to the gun tucked in its holster, securing it in her palm without the swift movement of taking it out.

There was a single bullet left in its forearm. After the last attack, she hadn't bothered to replace the cartridge, instead doing about her day with a pistol she carried everywhere and one measly bullet that would determine whether she'd live or not.

It was pretty stupid of her now that she thought about it. But the symbolism had a nice ring to it.

The prickling itch around her shoulders still hadn't disappeared, and in a move fired by adrenaline, she pivoted on her heel and aimed the gun directly towards the source of her discomfort.

What she saw made her pause.

Instead of some rabid animal gearing at the chance to attack, she was caught off guard by the pair of friendly eyes staring back at her from a safe distance.

Her grip on the handle faltered, but she didn't lower the pistol until she was sure she was in no immediate danger. That and the dog definitely didn't look like the wild ones she'd encountered before. This one had more of a curious look to it, unlike the ravenous, teeth-bearing flea-bags she'd come to really hate.

"Uh," Emma hesitated momentarily before running a hand through her blonde locks. "Hi."

She figured it heard her when its ears began to twitch, and with absolutely no regard to her wary stance, trudged forward in a careless saunter.

"Woah, hold up there buddy," Emma panicked, holding the gun firmly in her hands.

But the dog halted in front of her before she could make the heedless decision of… what? Pulling the trigger?

She wrinkled her nose. A wolf was one thing, considering it was her life she was bargaining with and a world where no one, at least no one who cared, could properly bury her body. But shooting innocent looking Labradors wasn't really her thing.

She dropped the gun to her side with a groan, sending a petulant glare towards the dog's soft, all too trusting face.

"I better not regret this," she grumbled, and slipped the revolver back into its holster. She gave the dog one long, scrutinizing look before holding her hand out in a friendly gesture, to which it promptly took a liking to with a wet, slobbering tongue.

Emma couldn't hold back her smile.

"Lost your family, huh?" she murmured solemnly, eyeing the dirty red collar circling its neck. A glance at its name tag verified her initial impression on the gender. "Well, Buster. Same here."

A soft smile curved around her lips briefly before she pulled away with a thoughtful frown. He was a bit larger than he had appeared from a distance, though judging by the bumps protruding from his ribcage, it didn't look like he'd reached his full grown size. And his black matted fur looked a bit worse for wear from this angle…

Her sigh came out more sullen than frustrated. Grabbling through her bag, she pulled out her last can of spam in a show of disgust, inwardly questioning how she ever managed to eat this crap. But she peeled back the top and laid the rest of the container on the ground.

"There," Emma said with a satisfied nod, and took several steps back. "That's for pointing the gun at you. Now we're even."

She watched in subdued interest as the can was sniffed, testing out the waters in the form of a lick, and all too soon Emma tore her gaze away. She tightened her jaw, determined to see her way through and head back to the mansion.

She had gained a good fifty or so feet from the park when she heard the hesitant scuffs pawing their way on concrete. Wiping a hand over her face, Emma whirled around and met the unreserved eyes of her newfound stalker.

"No," she ordered firmly, inwardly grinning when the dog stopped abruptly at her feet. She shook the feeling away and sternly added, "You're not coming with me. You. Stay here." And she pointed at the ground in emphasis.

She turned and picked up a quicker pace, enough to believe the dog had lost interest and bounded back towards the park. But the soft thuds returned behind her, and it both flattered and irked her like hell.

"You don't get it, do you?" Emma snapped, whipping her eyes to her companion. "Regina will _kill _me if she sees you. And then kill _you_. In fact she'll probably make you into a soup and add my body parts just for the hell of it. Is that what you want?"

Those stupid, trusting brown eyes simply stared back, though Emma could've sworn the dog had actually grinned at her.

Her arms flew upward in a somewhat comedic flail. "_Ugh. _You know what? Fine, _fine_," she surrendered, massaging the bridge of her nose. "You wanna face her wrath, be my guest. I'm dead either way."

With a final grunt of defeat, she turned on her heel, with no intention of stopping the rhythmic steps happily pursuing her. Maybe it was the guilt, or the spite that still lingered from the last two months.

But for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel the usual sense of loneliness aching in her chest.

PP

"Alright, buddy," Emma muttered gravely, pushing aside some of the nerves that had invaded her stomach. "It's now or never."

She pressed her hip into the door in a failed attempt to keep it from creaking. Her face twisted into an ugly cringe as she waited for the imminent onslaught, but when none came, she breathed a sigh of relief and stepped inside, a curiously excited dog at her heels.

The house was silent, something she hadn't been bargaining for when she decided to slip in through the back door for stealth purposes. Not that Emma minded; it definitely made the job of sneaking in an eighty pound Labrador a whole lot easier.

But something was wrong.

The kitchen looked like it hadn't been touched since the previous evening. And the counter was devoid of any food, which could obviously put a number on the scale on how pissed Regina was if Emma wasn't so sure they've been in worst predicaments. Their arguments could go physical, and there'd always be a meal on the table the next day.

"Ever played Simon says?" Emma inquired and pinned the dog – _Buster_, she reminded herself – with a questioning glance. She then pried open the door to one of the guest baths and motioned inside. "Well, Simon says wait here. And _don't_ touchanything."

After making sure the door was locked up and secure, Emma staggered her way up the stairs and quietly came to a stop before the master bedroom.

Swallowing the knot in her throat, she rapped her knuckles against the door twice. "Regina?"

When she didn't receive a response, she tried again, knocking forcefully onto the wooden surface until she was greeted by a sound that sounded suspiciously like a groan.

Panic swept in, and before Emma could think better of it, she twisted the knob and barged into the room.

"Regina!" she called out once more, snapping her gaze to the large four poster bed sitting on one side. The sheets were thrown back and tousled, but any sign of Regina's form were long gone.

And then she heard it again; a soft, muffled cough that seeped through an opposite doorway, and from the wide gap she could make out the sprawled figure on the floor, upper body bent over the toilet and –

Oh.

Emma's back straightened uncomfortably as a series of coughs muddled the air, driving her into a state of doubt as she wavered over the doorway. She never was a fan of helping other people through their puking cycles.

For several seconds Emma stood there, staring unabashedly at the woman who once upon a time would've once thrown her against a wall for bursting in like this. But then again there wasn't any magic at her disposal, and she didn't think Regina was fully aware that she wasn't alone.

"Get out."

Emma startled with a wince and reared her eyes to the scowl directed at her face. She felt herself flush from being caught staring, but made no move to comply.

"I don't think that's such a good –"

"Or make yourself useful and hand me a towel," Regina groused, and Emma couldn't help but notice the voice sounded much raspier than it had earlier that morning. She chewed her lip for some uncertain seconds before reaching over for one of the hand cloths tucked above the sink.

Regina rose to her feet and took it without a word, though her glare lingered a little too long over her torso.

"I see that abominable jacket of yours has made a reappearance," she noted. "How… nice."

Emma immediately curled her hands around the leather flaps, feeling the guilt clench in her stomach. "Er… yeah. About that –"

"I'm not in the mood for your apologies," Regina interjected and stumbled to the sink, firing another glare through the mirror. "Let's just leave it at that."

Emma caught the look with drawn breath, but quickly schooled her features so the frown carving her lips wouldn't be mistaken for surprise, which… there was no mistake to it. The light was angled in a way that presented Emma with a better view of Regina's unusually pale face. Her cheeks were flushed, her forehead clammy, and for once Emma could honestly say that the astute Mayor actually looked kind of terrible.

Her eyes locked with Regina's through the reflection, which instantly narrowed upon seizing Emma's less than indifferent face. "Are you going to stand there and gawk at me all day?"

Emma remained unperturbed. "You're sick," she noted absently as she leaned in a little closer, swallowing the urge to press her hand against Regina's forehead like she would do with Henry.

"It's merely a bad case of the flue," Regina informed her, pressing the washcloth to her forehead. "I'll be fine in a few days."

"That's more than just the flu, Regina," Emma pointed out, observing the brunette carefully. "I mean, you look like hell –"

"Yes, _thank you_ for the assessment," she interjected somewhat breathlessly. "The door's over there. Feel free to leave at any point."

"Guess you'll have to wait then," Emma offered with a meek shrug. "Because I'm not leaving until you get some rest."

"Excuse me?"

"You're _sick_, Regina," Emma repeated exasperatedly. "I don't know what that means in your world, but in _mine_ that's code for get your ass back into bed."

Regina's next words rumbled dangerously in her throat. "If you think I'll be following orders from you of all people –"

"Then you're shit out of luck," Emma said, earning a scowl in return. "Just get some sleep. It's really that simple."

"And I suppose this means you'll be maintaining the house?"

"I'll get started on the food, if that's what you mean," Emma murmured with obvious reservations, and did her best to hide the hesitant leap in her words. "And, you know… whatever else."

"Yes," Regina echoed, rolling her eyes. "Whatever else."

Emma decided to overlook the mocking gesture, if only because it lacked the familiar bit that came with Regina's sarcastic remarks, and it was a bit difficult arguing with someone who appeared to be on the verge of passing out.

Emma crossed her arms. "So do we have a deal?"

Had it not been for the wave of dizziness swimming beneath Regina's head, a snarky reply might've been tumbling out of her mouth by now. Instead she rocked on her heels in a pitiful display of vertigo and fumbled blindly for a platform to hold onto.

Emma's hands shot out around Regina's waist, anchoring her from the ground. "Hey," she started, eyes widening slightly in alarm. "You okay?"

"Don't touch me."

* * *

It had taken a bit more coercing, but Emma did eventually find a way to get Regina into bed – as… disturbing as that sounded. Bickering was one of her specialties, and bickering with Regina always seemed to take a good amount of energy out of her. Apparently it did for _her, _too, because the brunette finally relented in a show of exhaustion.

And Emma didn't have to pull out the bondage card.

As a result she was left alone to her own devices, carrying out some of the chores that she would sometimes see Regina doing, and finding some comfort in the fact that she now had an attention-seeking brat of a dog to keep her company. He wasn't much of a barker, much to Emma's relief. The later Regina figured it out, the better.

After making a note to stop by the pet store later that day, and wash off the rest of the grime that took a liking to his fur, Emma had no other choice but to focus on the things she _wasn't _good at.

Like… cooking.

Her memories from New York served as good references when she wasn't aiming to burn the house down. She could make a decent breakfast when the time called for it, and an even better sandwich. But her cooking skills were nowhere near as advanced as Regina's, even with some of her memories. Thus she was more at a loss on where to start than she was after finding Henry in Boston.

She stuck with the safe route and pulled out a package of ramen noodles. Technically it was soup, and soup is good when you're sick, right? She never heard Henry complain about it.

But then again, Regina was a whole other issue.

She was fuming by the time she left Regina's room, hand nestled around a bowl of untouched noodles, and a chip in her pride that only grew as she dumped the contents into the sink. In a way it was her own fault. She should've known Regina would be picky about her meals.

And she might've just given up then, probably, if she hadn't discovered her 'stolen' clothes in the laundry room.

It had been a blow that hit her like a ton of bricks, more than her leather jacket ever did, and what was left behind was a guilt-ridden twinge that was almost physically painful. She didn't know what to make of it, seeing her clothing – which, honestly, were kind of raggedy – folded neatly in a basket rather than tossed into the fireplace like she not so subtly accused Regina of doing.

First the food, and now _this_… She was screwing with Emma's head. That was for sure.

She could've easily overlooked the niceties if Emma didn't think it had to mean something. Maybe Regina was starting to forgive her? She definitely didn't want to get her hopes up, but it would be the next step in this bizarre relationship they had if they ever wanted to get back home.

Nothing else made sense. What other purpose would there be for doing Emma's laundry? For taking her in after clearly indicating Regina wanted nothing to do with her? And then the _cooking_ –

_Screwing with your head._

Emma palmed her face with a groan, deciding then that if there was anything Regina was good at, it was confusing the hell out of her. And whatever the former Queen was playing at, it didn't change the fact that Emma had once again placed the blame where it didn't belong, or that her conscience had to settle the debt one way or another.

Maybe that was why she found herself nose to page with that cooking magazine she'd acquired over a month ago. She'd gathered some fresh looking vegetables from the backyard, or what was left of them considering the colder weather, and found some pasta in the pantry that didn't have a weird name.

As for the instructions on the recipe – she didn't have much to work with. Any dairy products were immediately crossed out. She shuddered to think how badly sour milk can smell.

_Curdled _was just about the right word.

There were some spices though, some that she recognized in her time in the city. The combination might've been a little _too _spicy, but she made do.

She received the same annoyed look when she trudged her way into Regina's bedroom, and… _Christ_. Did Regina look that pale this morning?

Emma shook her head, because it was just the flu, right? She might not have extensive knowledge on medical procedures and… doctory stuff, but she knew from personal experience that a good night's sleep does wonders.

Regina eyes the platter of food in disgust. "If you think for one moment I'll consume that bio-hazard you call soup –"

"It's pasta," Emma cut in, racing to appear nonchalant. She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. "With some of those… uh, vegetables from your garden. I made it."

Regina hadn't expected that, and her eyebrows rose high on her forehead. "What?"

Shuffling her feet anxiously against the ground, Emma gestured to the plate on the nightstand. "I made it," she repeated, fighting to hide the growing blush from her face. "I mean, I had to improvise. But at least it's not packaged."

"And that's supposed to make it more appetizing?" Regina questioned, pointedly ignoring the food.

At that, a bolt of heat surged its way down her neck, turning Emma's fact into an angry shade of red. "Then don't eat it. At least I know I tried," she gritted out.

Emma didn't wait for the snide remark. Her cheeks still maintained an unappealing tomato effect as she stormed out of the room, pausing only to shut the door with a quiet click.

It wasn't until later that night, when she realized the food would more than likely rot if she left it by Regina's bedside any longer, that she slipped back in.

She half expected to be bombarded by more of Regina's backlash, or pinned with the silent treatment.

But Regina was asleep.

And the plate was empty.

… _She actually ate it?_

Something akin to triumph flourished in Emma's chest, and a smile tugged at her lips. It didn't mean much – it was probably just a bout of hunger on Regina's part after an entire day without eating. But it was a start.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

Except it _was_. It was so much worse than Emma thought possible and she could probably kill Regina for ever simplifying the matter as something as plain as the _flu_.

That is, if Regina didn't die first from her own mistake.

The so called 'flu' was actually a more severe case of pneumonia, as Emma discovered after over a week of tending to every cough, fever, and puking session with no sign of it getting any better. She'd spent a good chunk of an hour going through one of those medical books in the library for symptoms; hell, she even took the book with her back to Regina's room and finished the research on the floor, all the while keeping a close eye on the comatose 'patient.'

Just in case.

The signs were somewhat simple once she knew what to look for, except fixing it wasn't as easy as they made it out to seem in the books. Or serious. Although it seemed pretty damn serious to her.

And even if she wouldn't admit, it was fairly obvious that by the seventh day Emma was fucking terrified.

She didn't _do _sick people. Aside from her few years with Henry, she'd spent her entire life taking care of herself, through the highs and the bottomless lows and it didn't take a moron to see she was about as adept at caring for others as she was being a mother. That is to say, not a whole lot, but enough to get by without a mental breakdown.

But she was freaking out, because as much as the cough syrups and fever reducers did to alleviate the symptoms, and all the other crap she snitched from the pharmacy, the fact of the matter was Regina was coughing up blood. And _that _wasn't normal.

"You're killing me here, you know," Emma seethed softly, clenching her jaw before the weird knot in her throat revealed her unease. Her voice trembled slightly anyway. "I expect the same five star treatment next time I get sick."

Regina, whose coughing died down to a low clearing of the throat, pried her tissue-clad hand from her mouth and fixed Emma with an odd look. Her eyes were far too weary and red-rimmed to hold any type of sharpness to them, and Emma found herself missing the hard edge surrounding those looks. Anything was better than this cold sense of defeat brimming beneath the surface.

"Good luck with that," Regina responded, her words strained and quiet. "I won't be of much use to you if I'm dead."

It hit Emma a lot harder than she'd expect, maybe because she had done everything she could to avoid that train of thought. It occurred to her, of course, that one of them would eventually end up dead before they could find a way back home. Emma just assumed it would be her, because she was reckless, and stubborn, and had too many close calls to count. And… well, Regina wasn't.

Reckless, that is.

She never imagined she would be seeing the normally composed woman practically lying on her deathbed. Regina was just… Regina. And the idea of her dead made Emma sick to her stomach.

She inhaled deeply before breathing out a firm, "You're not dying."

Regina's gaze wavered over her face. "Oh?" she deadpanned, cocking an eyebrow. "I take it this is the part where you stop me?"

"I can sure as hell try," Emma growled, and Regina would be deaf not to notice the conviction there. It might explain why Emma received another one of those weird looks.

"And where do you think you're going?" Regina called after a moment, her glare weak as Emma stood from her chair and made for the door.

Emma paused by the doorway, but didn't turn all the way to question the subtle hint of panic coating Regina's voice.

"The hospital," Emma answered slowly, as if the idea had only then occurred to her. "You need antibiotics."

And then she closed the door, pressing her forehead briefly against the surface before she felt her stomach churn once more, and she clamped her fists tightly in determination. Common sense finally kicked in and convinced her she didn't have much time, ironically enough, considering how much of it was already wasted in petty feuds. Shoulders high, she raced down the stairs and lunged for the set of keys sitting by the coffee table, knowing without a doubt that Regina would probably kill her if she found out she'd taken her Mercedes for a ride on more than one occasion.

But Regina wasn't in a state to kill her, was she?

She moved before giving her next decision a second thought, calling out for Buster; the affectionate little shit had somehow wormed his way into Emma's heart sometime during the last week. Now she couldn't _not _bring him along on all these escapades she's managed to get into.

She drove to the hospital at a record-breaking time, which would forever hold a blurred visual in her mind as she spent the next two hours searching room after room for anything she might need. A bag of masks, gloves, cotton balls, a heart monitor – because hell. Why not? She found some morphine in one of the cabinets on the second floor, and by the time she'd breached through the rest of the drugs, she realized Regina was right. She was so _stupid_.

What kind of antibiotic treats pneumonia? Like she even _knew_.

_Fuck, fuck, FUCK._

She tossed them all into her bag, every bottle, every cylinder looking thing that looked important. Because one of them was _bound _to have the right effect, not that she planned on experimenting with 'possible' treatments. She still had some research to do, but at least this way she could save herself another trip back.

_Vancomycin._

_Cefuroxime_.

_How do you even pronounce these?_

Twenty minutes and several cries of frustration later, she left the hospital and made a beeline for the house, balancing a bag of drugs – _drugs_ of all things – in her arms. This time when she swept through the front door, she let Buster roam freely into the foyer, barely scraping the attention to close the door behind her as she tumbled up the stairs and stopped mid-step in the hallway.

She took in a deep, stifling breath.

She needed to calm down. Get a grip. This wouldn't be the first time she'd be forced into a pressuring situation. She lived it every day. If anything, it had become a constant presence in her life the moment she stepped into Storybrooke, even before then when she'd been moved from foster home to foster home.

This wasn't any different. And Regina _wasn't _going to die.

With that thought in mind, she straightened her back and pushed through the bedroom door.

* * *

When Emma awoke, it was to the sound of rain pattering outside Regina's window.

She sat up groggily against something bulky pressing into her side, and a quick glance determined the position she was in. At some point during the night she had fallen asleep on one of those uncomfortable wooden chairs, clumped in a twisted arrangement that made her back ache sharply. She might've settled for the floor instead if she hadn't been so adamant against leaving Regina's side for a second.

Memories of the previous night whispered across her mind, and her sleepy stare drifted over to the noticeable lump beneath the sheets. She felt a chill run down her spine.

"Regina?" she muttered, flicking a lamp on from the other end before turning her gaze back to the figure on the bed. Regina's skin had turned a ghastly shade of grey, far paler than what would be deemed possible, and her lips were a chilling shade of blue. With her eyes sealed shut, and the foreboding semblance of tranquility centered over her expression, she looked…

Emma immediately felt the intense alarm clog her throat.

"_Regina_?" she repeated, pivoting on her knees until she was looming over the unmoving figure. She shook the other woman's shoulder. "Regina!"

_Was she…_

Her fingers clumsily fumbled with a frail wrist, and as she searched for a pulse, Emma could only feel her panic rising. Was she doing it right? All those health classes she took in high school were a waste of time, but she did pay attention during the important parts. It was always the same; inside the wrist, below the thumb. Granted she was never very good at locating a strong pulse whenever she was partnered up, but there was always _something_. Unless…

_Oh god._

_Oh god oh god oh god._

_She killed her._

_Regina's dead because of her. Because she failed and now she's alone – _

_Alone._

_Is that what's going to happen to her now. Either face the same fate or continue living in a world like this?_

_Forgotten?_

_Alone?_

Emma sprang up with a gasp, tugging at her hair as she willed her heartbeat to slow down for just a moment. But the sheer shock of it all had her pacing from one end of the room to the other, and soon enough she was mumbling incoherencies to herself that strongly reflected her panicked thoughts.

What was she going to do? What _could _she do? Now that she was alone in another reality with no one to find her and Regina was…

Regina was…

She chocked back a strangled sob. And if there was no way back home? If she was stuck here for good?

And _Henry –_

She wouldn't be able to handle it. Not in this world, and not in any other when she already have a taste of what she _did _have. She'd go insane.

Christ, she'd probably kill herself.

As though her hand had a mind of its own, she let out a shudder as her fingers unwittingly skimmed past her holster and over the metallic surface of her gun. Cold. Sharp.

Maybe there was a reason for there being only one bullet.

Maybe –

"Is there a reason why you're interrupting my sleep again with your senseless babbling?"

Emma stiffened, whipping her head around so fast she discovered a whole new meaning to the term 'whiplash.' Her frantic stare shot over to the bed as though she'd just seen a ghost, which was strangely accurate, all things considering. But there wasn't a ghost. Instead there was Regina, glowering at her from the other side of the room with all the paleness and sickness and… very much alive.

"You're alive," Emma breathed, sensing her shoulders drop. She couldn't tell whether it was from relief or embarrassment.

"Impressive skills of perception you have there," Regina muttered hoarsely, her eyes – now only slightly red-rimmed – narrowed into thin slits as she observed Emma intently. "Are you… are you _crying_?"

It was second nature for Emma to deny the accusation, but then she stopped herself before lashing out. Was she?

With a grimace, she wiped a hand over her eye and frowned at the moisture. Okay. So maybe she was crying.

"Yeah. I guess I am," Emma said distantly, shoving her hands into her pockets. She looked anywhere but at Regina. "I couldn't find your pulse. And I mean, you looked – I thought you were…"

She didn't look up to see the dim flash of realization dance in Regina's eyes, muffled by disbelief that was quickly masked into a neutral expression. She studied the fidgeting blonde carefully, her tired gaze taking in the scene in wonder.

"You thought I was dead," Regina finished in a curious tone. Suddenly she gave out a snort of amusement. "Please. As if you could get rid of me that easily."

Neither of them mentioned how contradictory that sounded, considering Regina's willingness to give up before.

And Emma definitely wasn't going to start now. "I'm glad," she admitted awkwardly, shifting her weight. "I was starting to get used to your snarky attitude."

"Careful, dear," Regina drawled. "Any more sentiment and I'll be prone to believe you'd miss me."

"Maybe I would," Emma retorted, and was taken aback by the response. She blushed at Regina's raised eyebrows and cleared her throat. "How're you feeling?"

"Like death."

Emma rolled her eyes, ignoring the unsettling sensation fluttering in her gut. "Well then sit back and enjoy, Madame Mayor," she quipped, and grabbed hold of a green cylinder sitting by the nightstand. She held it out like a trophy.

"You've still got six doses left."

* * *

There weren't many things that surprised Regina Mills.

Living in a land of fairy tales, she'd come to believe that there wasn't much to consider impossible, when the possible could easily be gained through some form of magic of another. The impossible is simply a matter of opinion. Whether you prove it otherwise is a different story.

Since Daniel's death, she made it her mission never to be stripped of control ever again. And to do that she needed to be one step ahead, of everyone and everything. She needed to expect the impossible. The unexpected.

Clearly she also needed a new tactic. While not many things surprised her, what _did_ came in the form of a blonde-haired nuisance named Emma Swan. And Regina _really _didn't like being surprised.

For days now she had no other option but to consider Emma's hospitality as of late. Her willingness particularly to tend to Regina's basic needs had taken her aback in the beginning. Whether it was those obnoxious morals of hers, or the blonde genuinely cared about her wellbeing… Regina couldn't tell. She liked to think it was the former, as it was common knowledge that Emma was always quick to accommodate. As annoying as it was, it was also a consistent quality. There was hardly any room for surprises.

And yet… the look of utter relief on the woman's face had its marking permanently etched into Regina's mind. It wasn't a look one would commonly pertain to a former enemy, even with all the good deeds wrung in a history like theirs. But the tears could hardly be faked either. It was peculiar, really.

So much that not even Emma's foolishness – honestly, mistaking her for dead? – could divert Regina from the fact that the Savior had actually cried.

For her?

Perhaps out of panic, but still. No one _ever_ cried for her. And Regina recognized the signs of distraught when she saw it. She was the Evil Queen, for heaven's sake. She could once torment her soldiers and beat them into a shriveling mess. That counted for some severe distraught, didn't it?

Somehow Regina didn't think that was the same. People cried out of fear _from _her, not for. Even now, as she sipped at her tea, the thought perturbed her. She couldn't even find it in her muddled mind to react sufficiently against the beastly-looking mongrel currently sniffing her feet.

She sighed. Couldn't her life hold some type of normalcy for once?

"Emma?" She was sitting in the kitchen, as per her usual routine at this point in the morning. Judging by the hurried footsteps crossing the floor above and rushing down the stairs, she'd been heard.

Emma emerged at the entrance then, evidently put off by the scene before her. "Oh. You're… uh, feeling better," she noted with a tight smile, glancing nervously between Regina and that… dog. "Cool."

"Indeed," Regina answered wryly, taking another sip from her tea. She didn't meet Emma's eye as she calmly asked, "Want to explain why this monstrous half-breed is in my kitchen?"

The anxious twitch in her face dropped. "Half-breed?" Emma echoed, her brow furrowing questionable. "He's a lab."

Regina sucked in a breath. Lord help her with these idiot Charmings.

"And part pit," Regina explained slowly, as though talking to a child. "Don't you see its face?"

"Him," Emma corrected, jerking her chin up in a defiant gesture. Normally this would irritate Regina, but she was tired, and frankly she didn't care. "His name's Buster."

Regina scoffed. "That's a ridiculous name."

"Maybe," Emma agreed uncertainly, shrugging her shoulder. "I call him Bubba."

It was said so seriously Regina couldn't help but sputter into her tea, sending a reproachful frown to the side as Emma laughed. It was short-lived however, before the blonde sobered immediately after and linked her gaze to the dog with an affectionate eye.

Regina felt her face soften against her will and imagined, for a brief moment, that she was on the receiving end of that look, if only to counteract the feelings of loss Henry's absence provoked in her; feelings of longing Robin had left behind. Or maybe a part of her was seeking some comfort in the only source available to her.

Regina bit harshly on the inside of her cheek, shaking away the unwanted thoughts.

"Just be sure _he _doesn't get in my way," she warned. She pushed her mug aside and ignored the puzzled stare Emma held in place.

"You mean… you're not gonna try and kick him out?" Emma asked, trailing off cautiously.

"Would it make a difference if I did?" Regina countered. "I would never hear the end of it."

It wasn't the whole truth, and surely by Emma's knowing look it was obvious. But Regina made no move to clarify. She brushed away the invisible lint on her blouse and paid no heed to the calling whistle Emma blew, steering the snuffling dog from her proximity, finally.

Before she could think better of it, Regina cleared her throat. "Emma," she called, watching the figure turn back.

Emma's eyes shot up to hers, her expression morphing into one of surprise as she waited out Regina's next words.

"I'll be working on my garden this morning, as I see it's been neglected during my time off," she explained, and at Emma's imminent rebuttal, Regina raised a hand. "Would you care to join me?"

"You –" Emma blinked before nodding her head slowly. "Um… sure. Yeah. I'd like that."

"Okay," Regina replied just as awkwardly, and cleared her throat once more as she stood. Meeting Emma's gaze, she twined her fingers together and said, "I suppose I should say thank you. I wouldn't be here right now if you weren't insane enough to steal a lifetime supply of medication."

"Don't mention it," Emma waved it off.

"Yes, well," Regina began, granting her a stiff nod. "I won't."

"Good," Emma said and smiled; a real, genuine smile that might have been the first Regina had seen in a while. For some reason it made Regina's own lips quirk upward before she squelched the urge to give in to it.

"I guess I'll meet you out back?" Emma offered tentatively, to which Regina nodded. With a final smile the blonde was gone, leaving Regina behind with her mingling thoughts and a cup of tea that had more than likely cooled down by now.

She lifted it up to her mouth with a sigh.

Strangely enough, there was a lightness over her shoulders that she hadn't felt in a very long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **Lights Will Carry On

**Author: **misscanteloupe

**Rating: **M

**Summary: **One argument. One mistake. When a burst of accidental magic goes horribly wrong, Emma and Regina find themselves in a reality where Storybrooke still exists, but as a shadow of what it once was. Just the two of them. Finding a way back home isn't the issue anymore when you're trapped with the woman who hates your guts. Post 3B. Swan Queen.

**A/N: **Long chapter you guys. Hope you don't mind. The next updates may be the same length.

Thanks to everyone who has favorite and commented. That being said, I'm not entirely sure where this story will end up, whether I'll be continuing it or not. It doesn't seem like there's been a whole lot of interest, especially when I sort of had high expectations when I first began. But I continued anyway in the hopes that it might change. I don't know.

For now I'll post what I have so far, and let you guys know what I end up doing. Hope you enjoy the update!

* * *

The morning was especially quiet as Regina finished picking the last of her apples, staring sullenly into the brittle, dying leaves.

The apples themselves weren't a sight to look at, compared to the ripe, brightly colored orbs she usually tended to every year. But winter was quickly approaching. And nature… nature wasn't the same in this world.

Without magic, her apples were nothing more than plain, insignificant apples. They withered and wasted away like the rest of her tree, blending with the decaying surroundings. Not to mention the weather had become rather unpredictable these last few weeks. She wouldn't even be all that surprised if it started to snow right then and there.

Perhaps not surprised, but definitely frustrated.

Frowning, she twirled an apple between her fingertips, weighing it thoughtfully against the palm of her hand.

It wasn't the same.

None of it was. She still felt like an intruder in her own home, writing off her life in a world that might as well have been a prison. It was maddening, and to think that she couldn't handle the repercussions in a place that should've been comforting to her, familiar, just how long will it be until she finally breaks?

Until the thought of never seeing Henry again invaded her senses, curling through her veins like a virus. She would never get to see him grow into the dashing young man she knew he would become. Never get to see her baby go on his first date, wear a suit to prom, go off to college, marry –

She would never get to see any of it, because she was stuck here, in a shadow of the town she had created and once loved, with no one but _Emma Swan _for company.

_How ironic_, Regina thought. That she couldn't cast away the blonde after so many ill-fated attempts. And now fate throws her the opportunity where her son would have neither of his mothers, and instead would be raised by those simpleton Charmings who wouldn't know left from right if it smashed them in the head.

And these hideous, _grotesque _apples –

"Penny for your thoughts?"

It took every bit of Regina's resolve _not _to react to the oddly loud thuds in her chest – she didn't _startle _– and willed them to simmer. She subconsciously schooled her features into an impassive mask, though a touch of annoyance crinkled over her eyes as she fixated her gaze on the source of the voice.

Emma grinned sheepishly in response, looking incredibly uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny.

"Sorry," she muttered awkwardly, holding two mugs in her hands in a ridiculous motion. "You uh… looked pretty pensive there. Thought I could…" she trailed off and raised a mug in surrender.

Regina observed her with inquisitive eyes, and for a moment considered overlooking the offer in favor of commenting on the blonde's fashion sense, or lack _of_. She was getting a headache merely looking at that abominable leather jacket. Forget the fact that it was nearing forty degrees outside.

"Believe me," she said, accepting the mug with a pinched look. "My thoughts are the least of your worries."

Emma's lips parted, at the verge of expanding on the statement before deciding otherwise. She snapped her mouth shut and, nodding hesitantly, brought her own drink to her lips.

"I wasn't sure how you take your coffee," Emma pointed out, gesturing to Regina's hand. "You seemed like the black sort."

Regina settled with rolling her eyes, taking a tentative sip from her sugarless concoction. She was half expecting to grimace at the bitter taste, perhaps even fall dead to the ground in an accidental poison – it wasn't all that unbelievable that Emma could butcher a simple cup of coffee.

She hummed thoughtfully and peered up at Emma in confusion.

"What?" Emma probed, watching her intently.

"It's… satisfactory," Regina answered, the barest hint of astonishment laced in her tone. The coffee was rather good, actually.

"You say that like you're surprised," Emma noted smugly, wearing a grin that was oddly reminiscent to their earlier encounters. Back then it would've tempted Regina to wipe it off with an insult. "Hey, if anything I'm a pro with my coffee."

"Or your ego's inflated," Regina remarked wryly.

Emma snorted in response, but apparently didn't take the jab to heart as she seated herself on the ground, fumbling with the handle of her cup. Several feet away, the abhorrent beast Emma so willingly called a 'dog' took residence in the pile of dried leaves scattering the ground. It barked playfully at a squirrel, causing Regina to crinkle her nose in irritation.

"So," Emma muttered, trailing off with a nervous edge. "We're at a truce now, right? And, you know, I guess that means we're friends again–"

"Friends?" Regina echoed somewhat mockingly. "You don't seem to grasp the concept of a truce. We are not by any means _friends_."

"Alright. Allies, then," Emma grumbled in a strained voice, casting a frown from behind her mug. "Acquaintances. Whatever. Would it kill you to be a little nicer?"

"I'm not quite sure what you mean."

Emma scoffed, because _that _was every bit as fake as Politian Regina. "Right," she deadpanned, heaving out a sigh. "So what's the plan?"

Regina steered her attention from her initial task and settled for a curious look. "Pardon?"

"The plan," Emma repeated, forcing determination into her tone. "We've been stuck here for over two months, Regina. We can't even have a conversation without yelling at each other. And this… it's stupid. I wanna go home."

"And you think I don't?" Regina countered stiffly. "Let's not forget what brought us here in the first place."

"_Really?_ We're really starting this again?"

"I'm merely stating a fact –"

"Yes, _thank you_, Captain Obvious," Emma interjected, using her left foot to kick at a pebble. "It's my fault. I _get _it. Question is what're we going to _do _about it?"

"What would you have me do?" Regina inquired steadily, her expression deceptively calm.

"Anything," Emma replied hotly. "Anything's better than _nothing_. We both know our chances are better if we're working together."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Emma, but our chances are null when we have nothing to work with," she argued in a low voice. "You seem to forget that we're living in this miserable establishment with no _magic_ –"

"We don't know that," Emma fired back, pushing her mug of coffee to the side. She didn't seem to notice that it had spilled into the ground. "How can we if we haven't even tried –"

"Do not speak to me about trying," Regina retorted, whirling around to face the younger woman with a furious scowl. "I have donemy part."

"How can you say that?" Emma bit out, pushing herself to her feet. "Is that your way of saying you're done? Is that it?" She pushed through the several feet of distance between them, invading Regina's space once more in two purposeful strides. "You're just gonna give up?"

Regina ignored the way those keen eyes glinted back at her with such raw intensity, pinning her with a fierce look that stripped the rest of her barriers away. It made her feel vulnerable and far too easy to read.

She hated it.

All too soon Emma took a step back, though with the feeling now gone, it was even more of a hassle distinguishing the lack of warmth caused by the sudden movement. The notion was disturbing enough for Regina as it was.

"What about Henry?" Emma breathed wearily, and Regina's head jerked up in a flash of rage.

"_Don't_," she warned, but her voice cracked. It would've been humiliating if the pain wasn't so severe. "Don't you _dare_."

From the corner of her eye, Regina caught the unflinching defiance in the blonde's posture before a haggard breath was released, followed by silence; the kind of silence that dripped with tension. She struggled to maintain a hold on the emotions surging through her, which truthfully was more of a crippling grief ebbing away at her chest. It feasted on her desolate thoughts like a parasite.

Slowly she unclenched her hands and gathered every shred of patience she had. "What do we know so far?" Regina muttered behind her breath.

Emma blinked, at first in confusion, and then the realization dawned on her that twisted into a hesitant grin.

"Don't get too worked up," Regina stated sternly, clenching her jaw. "I haven't agreed to anything."

"Yet," Emma emphasized, but quickly grappled for a proper response before she managed to veer back to square one. "I guess we start with the easy stuff. You said it before – what I did back there. That I… what? Absorbed magic?"

"As a theory," Regina reminded her. "But yes, that is the general idea."

"Okay," Emma agreed, albeit hesitantly. Reaching over for one of the apples in the basket, she continued with a low brow, "So, this… projection magic you mentioned. Is it… dangerous?"

"In some ways," she sighed, regarding Emma with a detached expression. "Have no fear, Miss Swan. I highly doubt a little bit ofbad magic is going to defile you."

She didn't hold back on the sarcasm.

"It's Emma now. Remember?" the blonde reiterated, perhaps too bluntly. She brought the apple to her lips and bit into it slowly. "At one point you made it seem like all magic is bad."

"It can be," Regina conceded, glowering at the display. "But in your own words, not everything is black and white."

Emma twirled her apple in thought. "So what's the deal with this magic, then?"

Her frown hardened as the fruit was tossed carelessly into the air. "Explain."

"What's the story behind it?" Emma elaborated, taking back her seat on the ground. "Like, its history. Is it common in other realms or –"

"In the past it was used as a method of healing," Regina explained, distantly aware that she didn't hold an abundance of knowledge on the subject. Whatever information she had gathered were from books and scrolls that were a bit more outdated than she'd prefer. "It takes a great deal of energy to perform the simplest of healing spells. Even for me, the process is difficult to a fault. The human body is known for its… complexities. Absorbing the magic required would essentially reduce the amount of energy needed to heal, say, a fatal stab wound."

"Wait, _healing_? But that's –"

"Good?" Regina interrupted shrewdly. "Pure?"

Emma's mouth moved with silent words before she pursed her lips. "I was going to say harmless –"

"And destructive," Regina informed curtly, silencing her. "As you can imagine, that much power in the wrong hands always leads to someone else's downfall."

"You mean like yours?" Emma asked, and she didn't mean for it to sound accusing, but the words were out before she could reel them back in.

Regina stiffened, her features creasing into a look of stone-like acceptance that only magnified the strained silence pulsing between them. It was a jab that she should've been used to. She had received far worse commentary from people who wanted to see her head on a stick, who despised everything she ever stood for. But it was always a type of ridicule that pertained to her actions, never her failures.

Of course she was speaking from experience. It didn't sting any less, however.

Several feet away, Emma ducked her head into her chest. "I'm sorry," she exhaled, offering up an apologetic cringe that might've been a bit too pitiful to take seriously. "That was uncalled for."

"Perhaps," she concurred in a blank tone, deciding to leave the bite out in case she failed to hide her injured pride. "But true, nonetheless."

At that, Emma perked her head up, drawing her lips in a thin line. She seemed to be considering her next words carefully before she hurriedly said, "What about –" only to trail off with a frown.

"Well?" Regina urged, narrowing her eyes when the blonde didn't respond. "What is it?"

"Gold," Emma said simply, and Regina instantly wanted to throttle her for bringing him up at a time like this. "He once told me… well, he said true love was the only magic powerful enough to transcend realms, or… you know. Whatever this is."

Something cold struck her deep in her chest. "And you believe that –" Regina paused and smothered the urge to laugh outright. "You can't be serious. I have a true love, Emma. Or rather _had, _before you brought his wife back from the dead. Whatever misconstrued notions you're having, lose them."

"I didn't mean it like _that_," Emma snapped, a hot blush staining her cheeks. If she didn't look so utterly unsettled by the idea, Regina might've thought otherwise.

But the blonde's face had scrunched up, and Regina felt that hard stab of coldness in her chest again that resembled more like offense. Which was ridiculous.

What did she care if the Savior found the notion of the two of them together repulsive? The feeling was very much neutral.

"Then what's your point?" Regina bit out, garnering a hard edge to her voice that was decidedly… insulted.

If Emma noticed the change in demeanor, she didn't say anything. "My parents… they have it, don't they? Which means _I'm _the product of true love," Emma pointed out, looking slightly queasy with the concept. "Maybe that accounts for all of –" she waved her hand in gesture. " – this."

"It would explain how you hold magic far more powerful than mine," Regina agreed quietly, mirroring Emma's uneasy expression. "And how you managed to expel us into another world."

"It was an accident –"

"Yes," Regina injected in a sarcastic drawl. "So I've been told."

The blonde huffed out a breath, immediately deflating without a comeback. "So what does this mean? For us, I mean?" she asked the older woman hopefully, and it sounded so out of sorts that anyone could easily misinterpret the conversation if they were listening in at the wrong moment. Regina really didn't want to think about that.

"The well's gone, you know," Emma continued, drawing Regina out of her thoughts. "It's just not there anymore. And… I guess that was kind of my plan A."

"Then we make a plan B," Regina added in a deceptively even tone. Inwardly she was brimming with doubt. "That's usually the next course of action."

"Then what's plan B?"

The silence that lingered between them was stretched several seconds too long, but Regina used it to her advantage to think of Henry again, as the infant she had held in her arms and loved, to the little boy who had grown to hate her, and the young man that didn't.

"Regina?"

She glanced up, green eyes meeting hers, and it was the concern festering in an otherwise puzzled gaze that brought her back to reality.

Regina lifted her chin. "We keep looking," she answered, somehow sweeping away the skepticism long enough to showcase conviction. "We'll begin at noon. Now if you don't mind." She gestured to the back door across the yard.

Emma quickly took the hint and stood. "Right. I'll just uh… get ready then." Brushing her hand over the surface of her pants, she took another bite from her apple and wrinkled her nose in disgust. "You know, you always did exaggerate the taste of these things. They're kind of gross."

She turned on her heel and left before Regina could come up with a snarky response, completely missing the look of outrage on the older woman's face.

* * *

Just as Regina had planned, they began their search around noon, and it was sort of a relief in Emma's case to have a second opinion on all the possibilities she'd already considered. In the beginning she had been walking aimlessly towards a goal, the goal obviously being a way back home. But it had taken weeks before she realized that, while she had an objective in mind, she didn't have all the points that could lead her there.

And Regina was good at that. The planning, the speculating, the why's and the how's… it was a specialty of hers that Emma didn't possess even during hers days as a bounty hunter. She tended to go after things headfirst. And it might've done her well when it came to criminals, but all in all she knew absolute jackshit about magic.

So she let Regina take the lead this time, despite the fact that Regina's bossiness was really starting to grate on Emma's nerves.

She was doing everything possible not to lose her temper and break the reluctant, but functioning, treaty they had going between them. But it was a difficult feat when Regina would insist on stripping every nook, every corner of Jefferson's dark and desolate mansion, probably out of spite than any real desire to find a solution.

By mid-afternoon, any proof of accomplishment lay in the thread of multiple hats, all worn out and presumably once magical in their own right.

Somehow Emma didn't think they were good for opening portals in this world.

The next day didn't hold much progress either – tombs and secret chambers that had formerly held human hearts weren't entirely Emma's strong points – and by the third day, she couldn't get the idea that there was something wrong with Regina from her head.

She was acting strange, not that that hadn't become a regular occurrence since Emma's arrival in the manor. But in the days since their agreeable truce, Regina had seemed to deteriorate, her features becoming frayed and defeated.

At first Emma chalked it up as another illness, and the thought alone terrified her enough to keep a watchful eye on the prissy woman, which was… weird. She learned more about Regina's little quirks in less than twenty four hours than she had in the two years she had known her.

She did most things with her left hand, for one. Emma didn't know how she could've missed that one. And she liked to grind her teeth when she was in deep thought, not to mention the frequent finger tapping when it got especially bad. Or the hand she placed on her stomach in the midst of anxiety – that was also frequent – or how pretty she looked when she was eerily calm.

And… yeah. It was just weird.

Of course Regina noticed eventually, leaving Emma with a string of scornful remarks and a new assumption that maybe she wasn't sick after all; just… sad.

It made Emma wonder what was on the brunette's mind more often than not, even going so far as to continue the shameless staring to find out – as if she could read a person's mind simply by gawking holes into their face.

Despite her best efforts not to think about it, Emma _did _care. A whole lot, actually.

The distractions were still there, though, as they often were when they took up the routine of scouring town and ending the day with a crapload of trinkets that had nothing in common, except for the likelihood of being found at a yard sale.

It was only a matter of time before one of them became restless.

And Emma was beginning to think the time was soon.

* * *

The final days of October were misty and bitter, and before long the end of the week crept into November, far too soon for Emma to grasp. The calendar she kept at her bedside was neglected for a short time and she was forced to draw lines against a wooden shelf.

She only hoped Regina wouldn't notice.

Thursday morning didn't hold much promise for suitable weather, not that it ever stopped Emma from stalking through a forest in the middle of a thunderstorm. She spent her time catering to Buster's needs instead, walking him through the docks and back in a half-assed attempt to avoid going back to the mansion. He needed some fresh air anyway.

And that's what you do when you suddenly have a dog on your hands, right? You make excuses to get out of the house.

It definitely would've made things a bit easier growing up.

"They would've thrown you in a lake," Emma murmured, more to herself than her furry confidant, silently mulling over one of earlier set of foster parents who hadn't been too big on animals. "Or grilled you in the next barbecue," she added pensively, and earned herself a wide-eyed look in the form of a dog stare. "Yeah. They were that bad."

The sky was just beginning to cloud over as they made their way to the mansion, with Emma clutching the leash possessively once they stumbled inside. Well, _she _stumbled. Buster all but trampled his own way through the foyer.

"Okay, can you be _any _more of a dick?" she groaned, letting the sound echo with the thuds of his scampering paws. The damn leash was still attached.

"Do you always make it a habit of talking to animals?" a voice interjected somewhere in her vicinity, forcing Emma to stumble again in her haste to whip her head around. "Your mother's influence, no doubt."

Emma subconsciously retreated until her back was to the door, fixated on the figure leaning so casually against one of the doorframes. She was usually pretty good at detecting company when it was hidden – it came with the job as sheriff – but even she had to admit Regina could be impossibly sneaky.

It was really annoying.

"Why do you have to do that?" Emma asked, setting aside her coat and scarf. "Ever consider making some noise? It's like you enjoy scaring the hell –"

"You're late," Regina clipped in as she pushed herself off the doorframe and shifted towards her. "Or did I imagine you saying you'd be back by noon?"

Emma's next words faltered in her mouth. If she didn't know any better she'd say Regina had been waiting up on her, something that would've seemed absurd if it wasn't such a _Regina _thing to do. She could already envision the perfectly poised brunette looming over the doorway just for this opportunity.

Oh wait.

Emma rolled her eyes. "I was walking Buster," she explained distractedly.

"For two and a half hours?" she drawled. "A generous walk, don't you think?"

"You actually counted?" Emma countered with raised eyebrows.

Regina sniffed in response, though if anything it made her look less like the woman she knew in Storybrooke – the _real _one – and more like someone harboring a sense of reluctance behind a meticulously placed mask.

"Hardly," Regina muttered with obvious qualms, and possibly sensed Emma's apprehension if the withering look she sent her way was anything to go by. "Now if you're done loitering in front of my door, I'd like to go."

"Go?" Emma repeated, forehead creasing in confusion. That was when she noticed the attire – the hiking boots settled over a pair of form-fitting jeans, and it was so casual and completely out of character that it was almost as much of a shock as it was seeing Regina in a pair of sweats. "Go where?"

"The mines, dear," Regina dully reminded her, and once again Emma found herself in unfamiliar territory. "We have yet to explore the possibility of fairy dust."

She pushed past Emma for the door, but before she could get as far as pulling the knob, an arm was thrown in front of her, blocking the way to the front porch.

"Regina, wait."

Emma's arm lingered over the same spot before she pulled away, letting it swing awkwardly back to her side. She felt rather than heard the exasperated sigh brush her shoulder from the little distance she had placed between them, and for once it unnerved her.

"What now?" Regina snipped, catching her eyes in an annoyed stare. "We don't have time for any questions –"

"Actually we do," Emma interrupted, her fingers itching to cross the brunette's path once again in case she decided to leave. She pressed them tightly into her palm. "We have a lot of time. If you hadn't noticed, that's all we even have."

Something flickered beneath the surface of Regina's gaze, but it disappeared before Emma could fully grasp its meaning.

"You're deranged if you actually believe that," Regina muttered in a harsh breath. "Every day we spend here is another day away from your parents, in case _you_ haven't noticed. And from our _son_. And _Robin_ –"

She grew painfully quiet then, like she couldn't believe what she had just said. It was the first time Emma had her say Robin's name since the incident. And that alone made this moment too uncomfortable to bear.

"We'll find a way back. We _will_. But…" Emma paused and averted her gaze. "Look, we're stuck here together whether you like it or not. And… what I'm saying is – I'm here if you want to talk."

It was potentially the most poorly phrased suggestion Emma ever had to offer, but the words were out and she could live with herself now with the knowledge that she had tried something – _something _that could ease the guilt of watching Regina slowly deteriorate.

"Talk?" Regina mimicked, a touch of condescension lined in her tone. "How touching."

"I was only suggesting –"

"I'm well aware of what you were suggesting," Regina retorted. "Though I wonder what in that skull of yours makes you think I would ever come to you for assistance –"

"Because I'm all you have left."

The admission stopped Regina short of continuing her tirade, strained and contorted between an expression of stunned disbelief and… something else Emma couldn't identify. Normally she would've considered it an accomplishment; catching the brunette so off guard that hell froze over. And maybe Emma would've.

If she wasn't so damn surprised by her own words too.

Emma's mouth snapped shut with an audible clap, and she felt like she was being stripped from the inside out with Regina's sharp gaze darting across her face. It was vexing in a probing sort of way, and so Regina-like that Emma wanted to claw her hair out and forget this whole conversation ever happened.

"And vice versa. In this world, obviously," Emma added, breaking the silence awkwardly. "Like I said. We're in this together."

It didn't do much to relieve the stifling air surrounding Emma's lungs, but when several seconds passed and her head was still intact to her body, she figured she hadn't stepped too far over the line to worry about a murderous rampage. In fact, she could've sworn Regina's eyes didn't look very murderous at all.

They looked… defeated.

"You're reading too much into things," Regina stated quietly, and in a tone much softer than Emma knew what to do with. "Did you ever think that maybe this place is toying with our minds a little?"

_Yes._

Emma cringed. "Regina –"

"We should go," she insisted with an air of finality, and this time Emma didn't interfere when the brunette brushed past her. "We've wasted enough time as it is."

She whirled around and swept through the door, the click of the lock echoing loudly through the foyer. In a flash Emma was left alone, swallowing the bitter aftertaste of another conversation gone horribly wrong.

She barely had the presence of mind to shrug on her coat as she followed after Regina, stepping out into the cool afternoon air.

* * *

"Over here," Emma gestured with a hand, pointing to the blue yarn tied firmly around the tree's trunk, and then another following down the woven path. "The blue string leads to the lake on the east side, where the mines are. The red ones lead to the bridge."

They had taken Regina's car into town for the sake of avoiding the long walk that would no doubt lead to other inconvenient discussions Regina was in no mood to partake in. The ten minute ride was spent in silence, much to her relief, but as they stepped into the hollow pathway just outside the more huddled part of the woods, Regina came to realize that, at the moment, none of it mattered.

She tugged on the yarn with a raised eyebrow. "You did all this?" Regina asked, turning to Emma in a motion that might've been considered impressed.

"Yeah," Emma admitted, rolling her shoulders back in a shrug. Her lip twitched into a pleased smile, though. "It all looks the same. I guess I got tired of running in circles, so I stole some of the yarn Granny keeps back at the inn."

"That's…" Regina struggled to find the right word. "Not entirely inane."

Emma smirked. "Surprised?"

"Very," Regina deadpanned, letting her fingers trail along the next tree, and allowed her eyes to roam past all the others that bore the same blue tie. "I presume you'll lead the way."

It wasn't a question, not that Regina had intended on phrasing it as one, but it was expectant and Emma appeared to take it as such as she bobbed her head. Casting a final glance towards the intricate knots on the bark, she moved ahead with a deliberate ease that Regina found herself envying.

She hated forests. Particularly ones with the unfortunate titles like Enchanted.

But she especially despised the wet, marshy ground sinking beneath the soles of her shoes, and the thorn-like branches clinging to her coat which, at one point, nearly caused her to lose her footing.

A hand lurched forward and caught her forearm, steadying her.

"Careful," Emma warned with a grin.

"Thank you," Regina answered dryly, before tugging her arm away from the warm grip. "But your chivalry's unneeded. I can handle myself."

The flash of humor that had etched over Emma's face faded in place of an eye roll, but other than the stiff line marring her lips, she didn't seem affected by Regina reverting back to formalities. Regina was thankful for the silence, except now there was nothing to distract her but the crunching of twigs and the wind whirling through her hair, and it was only a matter of time before she was pulled under by her destructive thoughts.

Her throat rumbled as she grasped for something to say. "Why are you so certain we'll find a way back?"

Several feet ahead, she didn't miss the slight falter in Emma's step as the blonde craned her neck to look at her. "Someone's gotta be the optimistic one."

"And that would be you?"

"Well… yeah. Obviously it's not gonna be you," Emma said bluntly. At Regina's affronted glare, she quickly added, "No offense, Regina, but you're like, the definition of doom and gloom."

"And you're a complete thorn in my side," Regina growled defensively. "Don't be so quick to assume you know anything about me."

"I'm not assuming," Emma huffed, but the lack of clarity in her response left Regina wondering what she meant by that. "And I'm not here to fight, alright? Let's just find the mines and head back before it starts to rain."

"Lovely," the brunette sighed wistfully, and realized upon studying the murky sky that the view held a more ominous appearance than it did thirty minutes ago. Darkening clouds rolled in from the distance, grim and large and every bit of a warning as it should've been.

"I don't suppose you have something useful in that hideous bag. An umbrella, per say?"

"Nope," came Emma's definite reply. The trees began to disperse as she proclaimed, "But I have flashlights."

"And how the hell is that supposed to be useful?"

"I guess we're about to find out," Emma insisted and came to an abrupt stop, narrowly missing Regina's own body crashing into hers. The Mayor's scowl went unnoticed, and it wasn't until she parted her lips for an incoming remark that she followed Emma's line of sight to the rectangular entrance embedded against a stone wall.

A sense of dread seeped its way into Regina's stomach. "Shall we?" she offered, turning to the blonde, who had dropped her bag to the flood and was rummaging through its contents.

Pulling back, Emma straightened and curved her lips into a wry grin. In her hands she held two flashlights, one of which she dangled knowingly before brown eyes.

"What were you saying about useful?"

Regina pursed her lips, but accepted the offering with nothing short of annoyance. While she'd take an umbrella over some pitiful source of light any day, the fact remained that she was magicless and essentially powerless against any dark confinements.

"After you," Emma insisted, motioning towards the entrance in a hand-wave that Regina eyed with pure suspicion.

After contemplating the setbacks of diving in first, Regina quickly tossed the idea of there being anything remotely threatening in the gesture.

As it turns out, Regina didn't mind Emma's presence trailing behind her. It was somewhat assuring, not that she would ever breathe a word of it.

It was dark inside, as she'd expected, though it was the kind of blackness that engulfed her vision entirely. Grasping the flashlight firmly in her palm, Regina stalked forward and studied their surroundings carefully, minding her every step until she had the foresight to use her fingers to guide her past winding corners.

"So what exactly are we looking for?" Emma asked, severing the long silence that had worked its way up in the last five minutes. By that time Regina's vision had adjusted to the darkness. Instead of aiming the light to the floor, where the pathway led to more stumbling than she wanted to admit, she adjusted the angle towards the nearby walls for a better view.

"I thought that much was obvious," Regina replied.

"Like, actual fairy dust?"

"Diamonds," Regina corrected. "If you recall, the dwarves mine them for their magical properties. There wasn't any fairy dust at the nunnery as far as I can tell. But if the diamonds have been retained in this world, then we'd have found a source."

Behind her, Emma exhaled and pulled her brows together in concern. "Uh… diamonds?" she hedged quietly.

While she didn't bother to hide the apprehension, that didn't mean she expected Regina to whirl at her with her sharp eyes. "You know something."

"No," Emma quickly acknowledged, swerving the flashlight from her face before she was left exposed to the doubt brimming over her features. "No. I just… I think know where they are –"

"You _know_?" Regina hissed, stepping forward. "You're saying you've already been here?"

"I've been in the woods every day for the past two months, Regina. What did you expect?" Emma protested. "So yeah, I know. And they looked like a bunch of normal rocks to me. I didn't think –"

"Show me," Regina demanded, mustering the urge to toss the flashlight in a fit of rage, preferably at the blonde's head. "Now. Or so help me –"

"Alright. _Relax_, will you?" Emma prompted, any sign of annoyance dissipating from her gaze when she caught the desperate flare settled beneath dark, almost impenetrable eyes. Something about them made the pull in her chest heave into guilt, and Emma reluctantly sighed in submission. "Just… follow me. It's this way."

She turned in the direction she last remembered tearing into, when all those days of hoping and delving frantically into the idea of a magical source turned into hours of routine; a way to pass her time, when all the while she couldn't let her hope dwindle. If her months in prison had taught her anything, it was two things.

Don't ever get pregnant in a jail cell. Or trust a thief, though they were one in the same as far as Emma was concerned. And puking in a dirty, old toilet hole had permanently marked some lasting visuals in her memory.

Secondly was what had gotten her through those eleven months in spite of everything. Even when Neal had abandoned her, left in a prison to rot with a son she couldn't call hers for an entire decade… she grew accustomed to the thought that there was something better out there for her; that there was hope in anything as long as you were willing to look for it.

As of right now, her hope lay back in Storybrooke. Emma could handle losing her parents a second time, but she'll be damned if she had to lose Henry in the process. And if stripping this entire stupid ghost town in search of a magical source (that may or may not exist) was her only option, then so be it.

She had the feeling the prospect wasn't wholly mutual on Regina's part, though.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Emma glanced to the side, realizing that in her daze, she had wormed her way into a narrow breach in the wall. Around them, the ceiling was caved in, more so now that they were reaching an end to this corner of the mine. The opening was even smaller, and uncomfortably cramped around her body if she remembered correctly.

"Following orders," Emma retorted, edging her way into the thin fissure; one hand stretched towards the end of the hole while the other gripped the flashlight tightly. "You wanted to know where the diamonds are."

Regina watched the display with the same amount of raptness one would give someone doing something incredibly stupid, and this… wasn't too far off.

"And you expect us to go through _that_?" Regina inquired, eyeing the encasing rocks with caution. She flipped the light from the ceiling to Emma's struggling form, biting out a low, "Are you insane?"

"Then stay here," Emma gritted out, jerking her body once more. It wouldn't budge. "Just know that this was your idea."

"Don't try to pin this on me," Regina scolded, slightly unnerved by the flying specks of dust speckling her vision. "Unlike you, my brain cells are intact and contain something called _common sense_."

"I'm only trying to help," Emma bit back.

"By getting yourself killed?"

"Quit exaggerating," Emma told her, rolling her eyes. "If you don't want to come, then don't. It's as simple as that."

Regina scowled. "I'll pass."

"Suit yourself," Emma conceded with heavy breath, forcing her teeth together in the hopes that some of the strain will adhere to her body's movements. Lifting her right leg up, she pushed forward and scraped by with an inch before she took note of the blockage preventing her left leg from moving.

She let out a breathy groan. "Crap."

"What is it?" Regina observed warily, allowing her attention to linger over the dust particles once more as she hastily rolled the light towards the blonde's suddenly squirming form.

"I'm stuck," Emma blurted, baring her teeth in a tight grimace. She tugged on her leg with every bit of strength she could muster, but it was a difficult feat when she was blind to whatever was holding it down. "Just… give me a sec."

A sharp crack sounded through the cavern then, momentarily distracting Regina enough to veer her eyes back to the spot above the fissure, where the crumbling mass of rocks looked far more unstable than it did five seconds ago.

She felt the deep-rooted remnants of unease seize her chest. "Miss Swan…"

"Damn it, Regina," Emma growled in response, twisting violently against the stone wall. "_Not now_."

It seemed Emma was oblivious to the damage she was exerting at that point, as even Regina didn't think the Savior could be that stupid as to endanger her own life in a manner so predictably brutish. But it was happening and it was so utterly predictable that Regina could've laughed.

Instead the cracks dispersed, drawing a blank in her panic-induced mind.

"Emma!"

The voice sounded unusually foreign right then, and for a moment Regina wondered whether it had been her own fearful voice ringing against her ears. She moved without a second thought, hurling her body forward to grab a handful of leather and yanking as hard as she possibly could. After some resistance and a strangled gasp from her companion, the force of the pull loosened, and suddenly she felt a warm body collide into hers just as the wall collapsed.

The impact was expectedly painful, and overall unpleasant, as her back made contact with the opposite wall, scarcely avoiding the worst of the destruction when chunks of rock landed before them. As Regina pressed her backside even further into the cool surface, she was vaguely mindful of the contrasting presence hovering over her, shielding her from most of the damage caused by airborne pebbles and minerals sinking into her lungs.

Seconds passed before Regina stopped resisting the wild urge to cough. She used her shoulder as the barricade for her violent wheezing, choking up whatever dirt and rock dust she'd accidently inhaled. But by the time she was finished, the last of the rocks had fallen, and she was now very aware of the uncomfortable length of silence that had formed in their place.

And how close Emma was standing.

The flashlight had slipped out of Regina's hand at some point, blackening any visible proof of the blonde's intrusion of her space. But she was close enough to feel the elevated breaths flicking away at the loose hairs around her neck, and the warmth seeping into her pores.

Regina's first reaction was to shove her away; maybe add in a sharp tongue for being too close. She was almost unwilling to break the silence, though, moving only the slightest bit to hear a raspy breath hitch against her neck.

With her hands clenched tightly around her sides, Regina instantly felt her own breathing pattern start to change.

"You okay?" Emma finally spoke, wisps of hot air brushing across her cheek.

An involuntary shiver spiked up the length of her spine. It wasn't until Regina sensed a light touch against her hip that she was snapped out of her stupor, a cold, sinking sensation fluttering in her gut.

She muttered a terse, "Fine," before promptly shoving the other woman away, as she should've done in the beginning, and clumsily making her way to the thin stream of light tucked in the corner. Behind her, Emma stood frozen by the wall, forehead creased in a bewildered stare that Regina took no notice of.

The Mayor was mostly recovered as she brushed past Emma a second time, this time with her flashlight in hand and a steely façade that had nothing to do with Emma's presence by her side, or even their awkward exchange that occurred just seconds ago.

Instead she was staring fixatedly at the pile of rubble on the ground.

Emma took a hesitant step forward. "Regina?"

She was greeted by a quiet rage that was prominent in the older woman's posture, shoulders stiff and a cold disposition that vibrated off her back in prickling waves. The sheer energy of it nearly had Emma making a run for it before the whole place could explode, but she stubbornly held her ground and followed Regina's line of sight to the glittering rocks scattered by their feet.

With a start, it dawned on Emma that these were diamonds.

They were tiny and glimmered somewhat in the light, white and potentially beautiful if the sight of them didn't send a surge of dread coursing down her stomach. Because these were nothing like the diamonds Emma had come to know back in Storybrooke. They didn't glow with the exertion of magical energy, or shimmer in a pinkish hue when you tilted your head at the right angle.

They were plain and ordinary diamonds, with nothing that came close to the notion of magic.

They were useless.

Emma already knew this, obviously, but seeing it for a second time didn't ease the hit any more than a third time could, or even a fourth.

There was a gloss of sweat across her forehead as she swept a shaky hand over her face, tearing her eyes away from the ground and positioning them over the rigid curve of Regina's back. Before Emma could say anything, she watched as the fine muscles behind those shoulders flexed, and finally Regina turned to face her, stoic mask in place.

"Come," she ordered quietly, her voice a pitch or two deeper than Emma was used to. "We're leaving."

Emma couldn't bring herself to argue over the demand. Her own senses were still somewhat muffled by the recent ordeal, and she was too busy staring daggers – albeit curious ones – over the back of Regina's aggravating – _beyond _aggravating. And confusing – head.

What was _up _with her?

Emma clenched her teeth, but otherwise kept her lips firmly shut and followed the haughty woman through winding tunnels, stopping just outside the entrance to the mine once she could feel the cool, damp breeze flitting past her skin.

She didn't miss the first signs of rainfall showering them in a mist.

"We're not gonna make it back to the car before the storm hits," Emma stated with certainty, rubbing her hands along her leather sleeves as a clatter of thunder echoed from afar. "There's a cabin about half a mile from here. We can stay there until the rain dies down."

It was a suggestion, no matter how much she wanted to execute it as a demand and forsake the whole refusal process. But Regina remained uncharacteristically aloof to Emma's offer, almost as though she were deaf to anything outside her wandering thoughts.

"I'll take that as a yes," Emma grunted.

* * *

God knew how she managed it, but she'd led them down the path strung in red yarn, slipping here and there once the rain poured down on them halfway through. But by the time they reached the small abandoned cabin by the lake, Emma was soaked to the bone.

They stumbled into the warm confines with barely a word tossed between them, dust and the faintest scent of mildew filtering through Emma's senses. A brief huff of it was enough to almost make her gag, but she was wet, and exhausted, and she'd been on the receiving end of Regina's silent treatment too long to consider ignoring it for much longer. So she shrugged out of her jacket and rolled her shoulders, concentrating on Regina's weary expression with a frown.

"Want to tell me what's going on?" Emma inquired in a blank tone, absorbing every detail of the woman with considering eyes. Dark locks of hair were slicked back behind her ears, damp and curled around the ends, and yet it was considerably more stylish than Emma could ever hope to mirror.

"Well?" Emma urged.

She finally had her reaction when she was pinned with an unyielding glare, snagging upwards to catch hers in an act of defiance. It would've relieved Emma with its familiarity if she wasn't about to willingly pick at it with a stick.

"Again with the accusations?" Regina reproached weakly. "Don't tell me this is going to be a constant occurrence. For the last time, you're imagining things –"

"I'm not crazy," Emma silenced her. "And I'm not stupid either, no matter what you think. This has been going on for _days_, Regina. I _know _something's up –"

"You don't know anything," Regina protested, that all too familiar glint flaring in her eyes. "Even if there were, I don't see how that's any of your business –"

"Because we're in this together. How many times do I have to say this before you get it?" Emma snapped with a tug of satisfaction when the brunette's eyes widened momentarily in surprise. "And I'm not about to watch you destroy yourself because you're too stubborn to get help. Newsflash! We're not in Storybrooke anymore! So if this is about your pride –"

"It's not –"

"Save it," Emma grumbled. "The least you can do is admitthat there's something wrong. But you keep doing that – pushing people away when all they're trying to do is… I don't even know! But it's _okay_ to feel emotions sometimes. To feel _human_ –"

"Oh don't make me laugh –"

"Just admit it," Emma interrupted, regarding her detached expression with desperation. "You don't even have to go into detail. Just _admit _that you're not okay –"

"And what would you have me say?" Regina questioned sharply. "That this madness needs to come to an end? That I wish to destroy every inch of this miserable, godforsaken place?"

Emma straightened her back and caught the steady glare with, "Well, yeah."

A soft snort drifted from her nose, disbelieving and distant. "You never could stop meddling in other people's affairs," Regina calmly said, and finally turned from Emma's view, obscuring the rest of her features in darkness. "I'm fine."

"Don't say you're fine when you're not," Emma pressed on, taking a step forward.

When she received no response, Emma opened her mouth to speak, only to snap it shut without breathing a word. The silence that ensued was comfortable despite the strain roiling between them, here in an abandoned cabin that had seen better days and nothing but the loud pattering of rain to ease her dying words. She was tempted to continue the tirade and seek some form of accomplishment in an otherwise failed attempt at comfort, but the dismissal was clear.

And Emma didn't have a death wish.

"Fine. Whatever," she huffed beneath her breath, ignoring the dull pang of rejection plundering her chest. Her shoes plopped wetly against the floor as she slipped out of them, forgoing the socks altogether. "I'm gonna go make a fire."

She tried not to be affected when Regina put some more distance between them and stared resolutely at the floor. Clamping her tongue between her teeth, Emma stalked for the old, rusted-looking fireplace centered on the far wall, and tested the area for any deficiencies. Luckily there was a stack of left over wood in the side, brittle and slightly dank from the humidity, but it would do for now.

Within minutes she had a fire going, substituting the cool air with a blast of warmth that ghosted over her fingertips. Outside, another crash of thunder rumbled in through the outer walls.

"We'll wait out the rest of the storm," Emma muttered absently, drawing her knees to her chest as she maintained her position in front of the fire. She figured Regina wasn't listening anyway. "There's a blanket by that chair over there if you want to get some rest."

Her reply – which was unexpected in itself – didn't come in the form of words. But rather a heavy bang that sounded suspiciously like said chair being flung from the ground.

Emma whirled around so quick she nearly stumbled into the fire. Her eyes darted to the scornful glare zeroing in on her from the other side of the room. She shuffled to her feet once she recognized the looming threat crackling in the air, and shoved it aside when she was able to distinguish Regina's features; contorted in a mixture of anger and resentment and… grief.

"You don't get to do that," Regina spat between her teeth, looking more unhinged than Emma had ever seen her. "You don't get to play the hero everywhere you damn well please. It doesn't work like that."

Emma blinked, bewilderment clouding her mind. "What are you –"

"_You_," Regina interjected with a hiss, and forged ahead in a determined stride. "You and your insufferable Savior tendencies! Do you really think a few little words are going to _cure _me? _Me? _The _Evil Queen? _That pretending to give a damn about what I'm going through is suddenly going to solve all of our problems?"

"You think this is some kind of act?" Emma forced out, incredulous. "How about the fact that maybe I can relate? Maybe I know exactly what you're going through –"

"You have no _idea _what I'm going through!" Regina snarled, lashing out once more in the shape of a flying book and scattered pages.

While it was directed away from her general vicinity, Emma acted out of instinct, knowing without a doubt that she couldn't just bypass the situation any longer with some cheap words and a dose of luck. She was never very good at making people feel better anyway, not when most of her therapeutic methods were dealt with in a less than healthy manner. Specifically anger.

Luckily they both had a lot of that.

She marched forward and grabbed for Regina's wrist, ignoring the outcry that resulted as she all but wrenched the older woman from the floor and positioned her against the wall. Emma then slung an arm below Regina's neck, securing her hold when the flailing limbs were making it difficult.

"What are you playing at?" Regina rasped hotly, struggling against her. "Put me down this instant!"

"What? So you can hurt yourself?" Emma chided and rounded her other arm against the hand jabbing into her shoulder. "I don't think so."

"Don't be ridiculous," Regina scoffed, nostrils flaring as she supplied Emma with a venomous look. "I had no intention of harming anyone."

"Okay. So you can sulk then," Emma retorted. "How is that any better?"

"I was not _sulking_ –"

"Yes, you were," Emma pressed, tightening her hold against the weight pushing into her. She hadn't anticipated standing this close to Regina again, the tight proximity allowing her to see the glint in a pair of frustrated eyes, and feel the little puffs of air stroking past her face. The image was far too reminiscent of their earlier encounter in the mines that not even the strange tug in her stomach could be considered a coincidence.

"I don't know what you're going through," Emma admitted gently. "You're a lot of things, Regina. But scared isn't one of them."

The struggling stopped, swiftly replaced by an icy ridge that was borderline homicidal.

"There was a time when all you ever did was try to drive me away. You never gave up, even when I refused to leave. You never gave up on Henry. Not when he had his heart stolen back in Neverland. Not when you had to let him go," Emma said slowly. "But you're doing it right now, aren't you? Things aren't going your way and you're giving up."

"You shut your mouth," Regina barked.

"What do you think Henry would do then, huh? You're his _mom, _ Regina –"

"YOU KNOW NOTHING!" Regina screamed, her face twisting into a look of fury as her chest heaved between them. "Henry is EVERYTHING to me! So don't you _DARE _try to tell me otherwise!"

"Then prove it!" Emma roared back. "Don't just sit there and feel sorry for yourself! PROVE IT!"

"What the HELL do you think I've been doing? It's high time that you realize that we are out of options! There's nothing else we can do –"

"How can you say that when you have a _son _waiting for you on the other side –"

"BECAUSE HE'S BETTER OFF WITHOUT ME!" Regina hurled back, with a brutality that had Emma shuffling back slightly from sheer shock. Her grip on Regina's shoulders loosened as she casually admired the bright red flush coloring Regina's cheeks, hovering just over the pained grimace that creased beneath her features.

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! YOU WILL _NEVER_ UNDERSTAND!" Regina shouted, catching Emma's stare in an expression that was both manic and painfully resigned. "How can you when he will always choose you over me? You have _EVERYTHING! _You have a family that loves you and a pirate that gave his ship up for you! And me? What do I have? _NOTHING!_"

_Now we're getting somewhere._

"So that's what this is about?" Emma retorted fiercely, pushing herself further into the breeches of what would normally be considered dangerous territory. But this needed to happen. "You think you won't have people who will miss you back home?"

"You don't –"

"Understand?" Emma finished coolly. "Then tell me. _MAKE _me understand! Because as far as I can tell Regina, Henry would sure as _hell _miss you! And my parents – you're practically family to them. And I –"

_I care, too._

"I am DONE talking about this –"

"Then admit it!" Emma yelled, so loudly she was sure her windpipe would explode. "Admit that you have people who care about you!"

"STOP IT –"

"Admit that you're not fine! YOU'RE NOT FINE –"

_Smack._

Emma anticipated the slap far sooner than it came; what she didn't expect was the resulting sting burning a hole on the side of her face, warm and sizzling with just the right amount of pain to curl her lips down in an ugly cringe. She cradled her face, fingers pressing down on the area she imagined was now donned with a red handprint. It was weirdly… fulfilling.

Slowly her gaze then wandered to find Regina staring at her, eyes wide and horrified. Honestly Emma hadn't been expecting that either.

As she struggled to regain her bearings, she realized that they were both breathing heavily, the sounds ricocheting between them in a timely pattern.

"Emma, I –" came the abrupt reply, but it was left undone in Regina's haste to smother the fleeting emotions swimming across her face.

But Emma understood, even if her cheek still tingled from the aftereffects of the slap – a good one, at that. And finally the mask collapsed.

Regina's hand lurched up to her mouth as her face morphed into an expression of pure grief. She let out a strangled cry, legs wobbling as she stumbled forward onto her knees, where Emma was there to catch her. Hands twined their way around Emma's jacket, clenching the fabric. And suddenly Regina was crying; sobbing hard against Emma's chest.

"It's okay," Emma murmured, running a soothing hand repeatedly across the brunette's back. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."

It was a strange sensation holding somebody like this, especially Regina. But with over two months of no human contact, it was also strangely comforting.

Seconds turned into minutes, and soon enough the cries dissipated into silence. Regina's grip on Emma's jacket loosened, but it wasn't until moments after that Regina pulled away, her tear-stained gaze meeting Emma's.

"You're wrong, you know," Emma murmured, glancing down at her hands. "Henry loves us both. Equally."

The words didn't seem to register to Regina as she stared aimlessly at the fire ahead. The flames continued to crackle amidst the loud patter of rain outside the cabin walls, over the strikes of thunder pelting over them from many miles away. And even though Emma knew they couldn't be more alone, for once she actually felt… okay with that. Like maybe they weren't alone after all.

"I know," Regina whispered. And Emma smiled.


End file.
